


Lupus Parvulus

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Incest, M/M, Out of Character, Romance, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slash, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-30
Updated: 2005-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: RETIRED [DracoHarry slash] AU 6th year. Not for Dumble fans. Remus steals Harry from the abusive Dursleys, determined to save the boy from his fate. Used, beaten & abandoned by his friends, Harry's Slytherin side surfaces. He is a pawn no longer...





	1. Feeling Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Draco Malfoy, or any other character found in J.K. Rowling's books. 

Chapter One

As the wind blew harshly against the walls, and lightning struck outside the window, Remus Lupin lay on his bed, golden eyes sad as he stared at the empty space beside him. It was Sirius' place, his lover's place.

He could still remember the smile on the black-haired man's face as they'd sit here, discussing the earlier days, before Lily and James were killed, before Peter had betrayed them, before Sirius had been wrongly sent to Azkaban. He could clearly recall the lust-filled sapphire eyes as they would watch him, begging him to remind him of their love. The happiness that showed through his entire being as he talked about his...their godson, Harry Potter, and how he hoped that one day they could take him away from the Dursleys, and bring him to live with them, where he could be happy. A single tear escaped Remus' eye, and he closed both fiercely to block anymore. What would Sirius say if he saw him like this?

"You're moping again," said a drawing voice from the wall. Quickly, Remus wiped the tear from his face and sat up, taking in a ragged breath.

"I know," he replied, his gaze flying to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, Sirius' great, great uncle, or something like that. Since the ex-con's death, Phineas had demanded to be given a new portrait in his nephew's room. Everyone but Remus had been at a loss as to why, because Phineas had made it quite clear what he thought of the last Black heir. But the werewolf knew better, knew the Phineas, despite what he said, cared for Sirius deeply, and had been very disturbed by his demise. He had taken to talking to Remus, and only Remus, for days about nonchalant things...or Sirius.

"He wouldn't want you to waste away," he said pointedly, studying the brown haired man intently. "You need to get out, get some fresh air, go for a walk, something. You're turning into a living ghost right before my eyes," Phineas pretended to sniff proudly, and Remus gave the wizard a fond look.

"You're one to talk, you old coot. This is the first time you've left that frame in the past week," he looked at him curiously. "Where did you go off to, anyways?" Phineas scoffed.

"Dumbledore summoned me. Can you imagine the rudeness of that man? Here I was, watching to make sure that you actually got a full night sleep, and that blasted Sir Cadogan comes galloping through here on that fat pony of his, demanding my presence." Remus' face flushed slightly at the man's admittance of watching him, but he suppressed it and cleared his throat.

"What does he want now?"

"He asked me to go to the Malfoy Manor and spy on the family, seeing as how Narcissa was a Black and all, it should be easy for me to get in. I told him I had far more important matters to see to, like taking care of family," he gave Remus another pointed look, and this time the poor man could not hold back the burn that engulfed his face.

"We were never married," he said softly, his golden eyes falling to the promise ring on his left hand. Sirius had given it to him the day before Harry had come over, and had proclaimed so loudly that it woke up his mother, that after 'this whole war crap' he would marry him, and they and Harry would live in a little cottage in the woods, away from the prying eyes of others, and happy. He was snapped out of his thoughts as Phineas let out a snort.

"You were as good as, and that is enough for me. I know what your plans were, Remus, so stop trying to hide them." He paused in his words, and cast a fond glance at the still sitting man. "Anyways, as I was saying, you need to get out more, at least from this room. You cannot spend you entire existence grieving for him, Remus. I forbid it." The old wizard's words were so fatherly that Remus could not help but chuckle, which rewarded him with a smile from Phineas. "That's more like it. Now, why don't you go down stairs and get something to eat, Merlin knows you need it. And do bring the Daily Prophet up with you when you return. I would like to hear how the Minister is preparing the Wizarding World for the unavoidable war ahead." Remus sighed, standing up and throwing his hands in the air in defeat.

"Alright, alright, I'll go, but only if you promise to go visit Violet tomorrow. She's taken quite a liking to you, Phineas," his voice was teasing, and a rare smile crossed his face as the wizard blushed.

"I haven't a clue as to what you are talking about, Remus. Now, do as I say, or I shan't go see this Violet ever." Remus simply shook his head and opened the door.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he called softly, so as not to wake up Mrs. Black. The woman had become more insufferable since the death of her last son, gloating about how she knew he was a worthless, stupid boy from the second he was born. Remus had been sorely tempted to break the wizard's code of Kindness to Portraits and cut down the insane woman and stuff her in Kreacher's old 'bedroom'. Only Merlin knew why he hadn't done so yet.

"Where's Remus at?" the loud voice of Nymphadora Tonks boomed throughout number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Remus cringed as the portrait of Mrs. Black instantly came to life and began shouting obscenities at the intruders of her home.

"Oh, shut up, you miserable old bat. Silenco!" Mrs. Black fell silent instantly, and Remus mentally applauded Tonks' skills, though he had to fight back a chuckle as he heard the following crash, and the exasperated voice of Molly Weasley.

"Just leave it, dear. No worries, I'll get it."

"I'm so sorry, Molly, really I am! I keep forgetting that the blasted thing is there, and I was preoccupied with the portrait and Remus..."

"I said it's all right, dear," Molly repeated, sounding even more frustrated than before. "Remus is upstairs, and you'd best be quiet if you know what's good for you. The poor dear hasn't gotten a decent night's sleep for ages, and I won't have you waking him up, understood?" she growled. Remus' golden eyes rolled at her words, and he slowly made his way down the hall towards the stairs.

"We came here to see Dumbledore. Is he in?" He recognized Alastor Moody's voice instantly, having heard it for the past twenty years of his life. The retired Auror's tone was impatient and anxious, and Remus could almost see him shifting uneasily from foot to foot, glancing around the house in paranoia.

"Yes, yes, he's waiting for you in the study. And for Merlin's sake, be quiet, Tonks!"

"Yes, Molly."

As the company attempted to make their way to the study noiselessly (failing as Tonks once again crashed into something), Remus' face screwed up in thought. He had not been informed about an Order meeting, and Phineas had not said anything about one. It was a rare occurrence for him to be kept out of a gathering, the only other time being when he had nearly fallen asleep in his chair, and Molly had sent him to bed. The head female of the Weasley clan had come to speak with him just yesterday, and there had not been so much as a hint of another meeting. What the hell was going on?

He ran down the hall lightly, smirking at an infuriated Mrs. Black as he passed. He jogged down the stairs on the tip of his toes, breathing heavily as he reached the door. Since Ron and Ginny were staying with the twins for the week, he doubted heavily that there would be a barrier around the door. Cautiously, he put his ear up to it.

"...for one to live the other must die," Albus Dumbledore's voice was imperialist as Remus caught the end of the sentence, and he could practically see the Hogwarts Headmaster looking around the room with an air of importance, as he always did.

"Does...does he know?" Remus was shocked to hear a slight tremor in Alastor Moody's voice as the usually self-assured man spoke. Something must be terrifyingly wrong if it had Mad-Eye scared.

"Yes," said Albus gravely. "I told him at the end of the year, after he had torn my office apart and accused me of killing Sirius." There were several gasps from inside the room, and Remus stifled his own. They were talking about Harry.

"Why isn't Remus here?" demanded Tonks. "He should hear this!" Alastor scoffed.

"Oh, yes, let's do that!" he said sarcastically. "Let's tell Remus that there is a fifty percent chance that Potter could die. Think about it, Nymphadora! He wouldn't be able to handle it after what happened to Black." Remus flinched at the sound of his mate's name on the man's lips. And what did he mean by Harry could die?

"That is enough out of all of you. We will not be telling Remus of the prophecy. It is dangerous enough that all of you know it. As I was saying, Harry will remain at the Dursleys until the week before term, in which he will be brought here..." Tonks cut him off.

"What in Merlin's name makes you think he would want to come back here, Professor? In case you have forgotten, this is the house of his godfather. His dead godfather. The only parental figure he ever had!"

"I am aware of that, Nymphadora. However, Mr. Potter will not be given a choice in the matter. He needs to be around friends. I will not have him grieving the loss of someone whilst there is training to be done. He has a prophecy to fulfill." His words held a finality tone, silencing any more of Tonks' objections.

"Besides, why wouldn't Harry want to come here? I'm positive he's gotten over Sirius by now, and wants to be around Ron and Hermione-," Remus jerked away from the door, not wanting to hear any more of Molly's words.

He was seething inside, close to exploding. How dare they speak of Sirius in such a fashion, and of Harry! Harry would never forget Sirius! He waved his wand at the portrait of Mrs. Black, removing the silencing charm and drawing the curtains around her. He strode down the hallway and threw his door open.

"That was quick," said Phineas, looking at him in surprise. "Did you eat?"

Remus, for the first time all summer, ignored his friend, waving open his dresser drawers and retrieving his suitcases from under the bed. Phineas arched an eyebrow at his quick pace.

"I must say, when I told you to go and get some fresh air, I was not referring to an extended trip. Where are you going, Remus?" he asked, watching the man as he hurriedly stuffed clothes into his bags.

"I have someone I have to talk to, and I'm not keen on returning before the start of term," he said shortly, zipping the cases shut. He stood up straight and took in a deep breath. "I'm really sorry, Phineas, but I have to do this." The old wizard nodded in understanding, eyes dawning in realization.

"It's the boy, isn't it?" he asked softly, though he already knew the answer. "You know what he is destined for, then." It was more of a statement than a question, and Remus' eyes glinted in anger.

"You knew? You bloody bastard, why didn't you tell me?" he cried furiously, pointing his wand at Phineas' nose. The painting didn't even so much as blink.

"Albus Oathed me, Remus. I would have told you otherwise, and you know it. I do not agree with the way the idiot handles people, and the way he treated Mr. Potter last year is no exception." After a moment, Remus lowered his arm, letting a long sigh.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Phineas. I know you would have. I don't know what's got into me. Just, do me a favor, would you? Tell Dumbledore I went to their house. He'll understand." He said, picking up his bags and tossing them out the window. Phineas smirked at him.

"I trust that isn't where you will be?" he asked as Remus began to slip out the window. The werewolf simply grinned and jumped into the rain.

&

"Now, unless anyone has any other matters of importance to bring up, I suggest all of you go home to your families, and get some rest. You have been working far too hard; Nymphadora, you are most welcome to stay here," Albus said these words as he stood, giving a show of authority to any who wanted to protest against his suggestion. Tonks' now pink eyes studied him with intense aversion, before she arose stiffly and gave him a sharp nod.

"I believe I will, Professor. Merlin knows Remus could use some sane company," the young Auror sent glares to everyone around the table before turning and leaving the room, not offering a single good night. Albus sighed as others followed her path, Molly calling for her to wait up.

"Her stubbornness is annoying," growled Mad-Eye, not bothering to leave his chair. "You should really do something about that, Albus." The Headmaster nodded, but said nothing of it, instead choosing an easier topic for him to discuss.

"Would you be willing to train him, Alastor?" he asked softly, clarifying as the man arched an eyebrow. "Harry is no match for Voldemort as he is now, and Tom will not wait for him to be, which is something I want to speak to you about."

"Albus," prompted Alastor after a moment of silence. His old friend sat down in the chair across from him, locking their gazes together.

"Harry needs to be trained as much as possible before his battle with Voldemort, and if we were to only train him in the week he will be here, it wouldn’t be nearly enough. I've been thinking that perhaps it would be in our best interest if we kept Harry out of Hogwarts this year, and instead leave him here to train with you." Mad-Eye seemed to consider this for a moment.

"Lupin?" he growled curiously. Albus waved it off.

"Remus is of no concern. I'll simply send him off on a mission the day before school starts, one that will take quite some time."

"And Potter? You think he would agree to this without a bit of a fight?" the Headmaster finally cracked a smile, and the vindictiveness of it shocked Mad-Eye.

"Oh, yes. Harry will be quite eager to stay here without his friends. He has some secrets I am quite sure he does not want anyone else to know."

&

"Nymphadora Andromeda Tonks, don't you dare! What did I tell you?" whispered Molly furiously as she stalked after the violet haired young woman, her face harboring an annoyed expression. Tonks did not reply, choosing instead to disregard the endless rants of the Weasley matriarch. Of course, this did not set well for the fiery redhead, who quickly maneuvered past the Auror, blocking her path to the stairs. Her actions received a murderous glare that would have sent Severus Snape from the room in tears.

"Remus has as much right to know about this as the rest of us!" she snarled, eyes flashing. "Now move." With a gulp, Molly obeyed, watching as Tonks flew up the stairs.

"Remus!" she shouted, banging on his door and ignoring the shouts of Mrs. Black (though she did wonder of the spell she had cast).

"He's not here!" called a voice from inside. "Try again later. Say, a year or two?" Tonks growled at Phineas' tone.

"Then where is he?" she called back. The portrait scoffed.

"I all ready told you, he's not here. Now do go away, I need my rest."

"What you need is a good kick in your painted arse!" snapped Tonks, turning away from the door, pink eyes changing to red as they burned with anger and confusion.

Where the hell had Remus gone?

&

No one knew what he did when he was alone; no one cared. In fact, his family would probably be ecstatic by his actions, whilst he was certain his old mentor would be extremely disappointed and saddened. After all, he would be losing his best pawn.

He wondered absently if his friends had noticed the change in his letters. Where they had once been long and filled with complaints of his relatives, they were now only two sentences long, saying his was fine and was being treated decently.

Currently, fifteen-year-old Harry Potter was resting uncomfortably on the floor of the dark and cramped shed in the backyard of number four, Privet Drive. His aches and pains his Uncle Vernon had gifted him with were soothed by the constant roll of thunder, the occasional flash of lightning offering him reassurance that he was alone, that no one was in there with him, that he was safe for a little longer.

His back, once a flawless ghostly pale, was now littered with scars, bruises, and still oozing welts from Vernon's belt. His boyish face was now taut and contuse, his once innocent and sparkling emerald eyes now hard and dull. He had seen too much, done too much, to ever be considered innocent again.

Only a mere month ago he had lost his godfather, Sirius Black, one of only three people who had ever seemed to care for him, because of a stupid and reckless decision he had made. Because of him, he had lost the only person he had considered to be close to a parent. Only a month ago, he had learned that had it not been for him, Lily and James Potter, his parents, would still be alive. They would not have been on Voldemort's hit list, would not have been betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, would be happy and have a large family by now. If he had not been born, Sirius would not have been accused of a murder he hadn't committed, and wouldn't have spent twelve years of his life wasting away in hell.

In the corner of his makeshift home, away from the eyes of Vernon and Dudley Dursley, was Drakontas, his knife from Sirius, his love, his relief. He only saw her during late evening, however, as he did not want to risk her being found and taken away. He didn't think he could handle it.

Harry shifted painfully onto his side within the pool of his own blood, holding back the groan of pain that so desperately wanted to escape his throat. He could feel the welts that had begun to slow in their bleeding break open again, and he gave a tiny growl of frustration. At this rate, he would bleed to death before he got to rid the wizarding world he owed so much to of the snake-faced bastard referred to as lord.

A flash of lightning drew Harry's attention away from his pain, and a small vindictive smile crossed his face as he heard his cousin scream at it's accompanying roll of thunder. For someone who could be so vicious and cruel to a blood relative, Dudley was quite the coward to things that weren't hurting him.

"Ahh," Harry couldn’t help moan painfully as he fell onto his stomach, aggravating the lacerations on his chest. He closed his eyes tightly against it, waiting for the waves to pass before he opened them and began to inch towards the corner. He needed her.

After a few painful minutes of crawling, Harry reached the silver blade, grasping the handle with a gentle tenderness one usually had for a beloved heirloom. He rolled onto his back, holding the knife in front of his eyes, gazing at it lovingly. She would help him deal with his pain, and in return, he would keep her safe from the abusing hands of the Dursleys, who would not appreciate her for what she was.

He brought the blade against his left wrist, admiring the way it seemed to glide against his skin, leaving only a thin trail of crimson in its wake. For the first time since last night, a small, sad smile adorned the raven-haired boy's face as he pulled Drakontas from his arm and put her away, letting his limb fall to the floor.

This was relief.

&

Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging were in their living room, the telly turned to the weather channel so they would catch any updates on the storm that had yet to leave their area since eight that morning. Petunia was currently handing her shaking son a large bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup and sprinkles, hoping to calm him down after his 'horrifying experience'. Vernon's beady brown eyes were fixed on the screen, a scowl marring his fat face as he spoke to his wife.

"It's that freaks fault, this storm. I know it. He's trying to scare us into letting him eat Dudley's food, and live in our home. This has got to be stopped," he declared, standing and pounding his fist into his palm. Petunia nodded her agreement as she sat beside Dudley, her thin lips pursed together; giving the impression she hadn't any. Vernon took this as a sign that he could continue his tirade.

"I'll deal with him tomorrow, show him who's in charge around here. After that, we won't have to worry about him anymore. Just think, Pet, no more money wasted on that useless piece of flesh, no more food taken from our son to sustain him. He'll be gone, and we'll get back to our lives, the way they should have been. Take him down to Roger's Creek, that'll- who the bloody hell is that?" Vernon cast an annoyed and puzzled look towards the front door as another round of knocks sounded against it.

"Well, answer it, Vernon! It might be one of the neighbors!" urged Petunia, waving him towards it.

"Right," he grunted, waddling forward and yanking it open. He squinted, trying to get a better look at the visitor.

"Yes?"

&

When Remus had approached number four, he had been rather surprised to see that the lights were still on, signaling that the occupants were still awake at such a late hour. For a moment he entertained the thought that Harry was down stairs watching the telly, but doubted that the Dursleys had become that nice to him, even with the warning from the Order.

He went up to the front door cautiously, not wanting to make a big noise and startle anyone, took in a deep breath, a knocked five times.

Knock, knockknockknock, knock.

No one answered, though he could hear someone ranting from inside. He repeated his actions, though harder this time to increase the chances of being heard.

The voice stopped, and the next second, the door was swung open, and an obese man with no neck stuck his head out.

"Yes?" he asked, squinting at him. Remus forced a polite smile, though inside he was trying hard not to laugh.

"Mr. Dursley, I'm not sure if you recognize me. My name is Remus Lupin. We met this summer at King's Cross?" He smirked a little as Vernon's face lit up with recognition and horror.

"Y-Y-You!" he stuttered, stumbling backwards. "What are you doing here? Get off my property at once!" Remus continued to smile.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Dursley. You see, I came here to speak with Harry, and it is very important that I do so. Could you get him for me?" He watched as Vernon paled.

"He's not here!" the man exclaimed quickly. "He...he ran away." Remus' eyebrows shot up.

"Did he now?" he asked, nodding slightly at the older man.

"Y-Yes." Remus stared him down for a second, before letting out a heavy sigh.

"Bring Harry here," he commanded sharply, watching in satisfaction as Vernon jumped a little.

"I can't!" he protested. "He's not here!" Remus' patience was running thin.

"Then where is he?" he growled. Vernon grew silent, offering no answer. Remus sneered at him, and pushed his way roughly past the large man and into the living room, being met by two fearful gazes from Harry's aunt and cousin. He wondered how they would react learning he was a werewolf.

"Where is Harry Potter?" he snarled, making both people flinch. They said nothing, causing what little patience the man left had evaporate.

"Either you tell me where Harry Potter is now or I will tear you apart, limb from limb, and make sure you stay alive to feel every minute of it." Petunia collapsed in a dead faint at these words, and Dudley gave a squeak. And, if Remus' scent was correct, Vernon had just succeeded in wetting his pants.

"Out-Outside," squealed the large boy on the couch. "In-In the shed."

"The shed?" Remus rounded on Vernon, golden eyes brightening. "And what, pray tell, is Harry doing in a shed?" The elder Dursley quaked viciously and gulped, somehow managing to form a reply.

"He...he was spoiling our Dudley...making him sick with his freakishness. He had to be put away."

As the man's words sunk in, Remus could feel the wolf inside him begin to stir. Without another word, he ran to the back door and threw it open, walking swiftly to the innocent looking blue shed. He scowled at the padlock on the handle, and withdrew his wand.

"Alohomora," he whispered, yanking the now pointless lock from the door and opening it slowly.

The first scent that attacked his senses was the smell; the smell of fresh blood and wounded prey. He could sense feelings of sadness along with self-hate. As a bolt of lightning hit the ground and lit the sky, golden eyes fell onto the still figure on the floor.

"Oh, Merlin." Remus staggered forward, dropping to his knees beside his godson's body. He slowly took in the wounds, from the welts on his back to the suspicious ones on his arms, and found himself amazed that the child was still alive.

He pulled his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over Harry's small structure, wrapping it around tightly around him.

"Harry?" he whispered softly, reaching out a hand to brush the raven locks away from the boy's forehead. "Harry?"

Only the sound of labored breathing answered him, making his fears grow. Without the slightest hesitation, he scooped the son of his dead best friend into his arms, mindful of his injuries, and turned. He could collect Harry's things later, but for now, he needed medical attention.

From off to the side, unseen by Remus' werewolf eyes, Drakontas flashed mournfully as her owner disappeared with a crack.

TBC


	2. The Healer

  
Author's notes: [DracoHarry slash] AU 6th year. Not for Dumble fans. Remus steals Harry from the abusive Dursleys, determined to save the boy from his fate. Used, beaten & abandoned by his friends, Harry's Slytherin side surfaces. He is a pawn no longer...  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Ronald Weasley, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling's novels.

Thank you all very much for your reviews~ Aren't quick updates the best? -glares at several of her favortie writes pointedly-

Warnings and such contained in the first chapter. Please read them before continuing, if you have not done so already.

Chapter Two

When Robert Brashaw had moved he and his family to Great Britain, the young healer had hoped that they had escaped the crime the streets of New York possessed. He had, of course, heard the rumors of the so-called Dark Lord, but had thought them more exaggerated children’s tales than anything. It was a nativity only those who had not experienced the horrors of Lord Voldemort could contain, and one he had now lost.

“Hurry up,” hissed a cold voice from behind him, snapping the healer back to his duty. Robert tried to focus on the injuries he was dressing, rather then on the black-cloaked, masked figure that was currently glaring at his back. He honestly had no clue as to why he was in his current situation. He had just been leaving his shift at St. Mungos when the figure appeared out of no where, holding a wand to Robert’s throat, ordering him to come with him else have his family suffer. The choice was obvious, but the task at which the dark man had set him about was proving far more difficult.

Beneath Robert lay a small, red-haired, gravely injured child, appearing no older than seven. He was covered with wounds Robert had only bore witness to on torture victims and extreme cases of child abuse. He did not have the correct potions with which to mend the boy’s broken ribs, instead being forced to bind them with tight bandages as he used his wand to heal the abrasions.

“The-There’s nothing I can do about the scarring,” he ventured timidly, cringing as the other man snorted.

“I can deal with scars, it’s his physical health I’m concerned with. Are you finished?” Robert nodded, stuffing half-empty potion bottles and his wand back into his cloak, frowning slightly at his poorly done work.

“I have done the best I can with the supplies offered, but he needs proper medical attention. More specifically, a hospital.” Blue eyes leered at him from behind a white mask, sending the little courage he had just had plummeting back to his feet.

“What I do with him now is none of your concern. You may leave now, you’re services are no longer required. Your family shall sleep safely tonight.” The cloaked figure waved dismissively towards the door. Robert did not hesitate, dashing out the opening as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.

When he exited, however, he found himself right back outside St. Mungos hidden entrance, with no sign of the door or the two males in sight. One could think that all that had just happened had been a mere dream.

But the blood on Robert’s hands told him otherwise, and he stared at them in fascination. The blood of a child stained his hands, a child he had just left alone with a man who had already threatened his family.

Decision made, Robert walked through the glass briskly, making his way towards the nearest fireplace.

&

He watched with glaring eyes as the man raced through the door, slightly surprised by the lack of fight given in the boy’s defense. His healer always put their patient’s health before all else, including their own life, so he was taken aback when the man he had kidnapped had left without a word.

When he was sure the healer was gone, with no chance of returning, the figure pulled off his mask and cloak, waving his wand in front of his face, relaxing as he felt his normal features return.

The now golden-eyed Remus Lupin dropped his garments to the floor, before making his way to the slumbering child on the bed, gently sitting down next to him and repeating the same wand movement, until the paled face of Harry Potter greeted him. He was thankful Lily that taught him glamour charms, though all the ones he had tried had not come close to hiding Harry’s infamous scar. The werewolf could only hope the healer had been too busy to notice it.

Leaning back against the plush-white pillow, careful not to disturb his sleeping godson, Remus gazed up at the ceiling of the room he had conjured, absently running his fingers lightly through Harry's raven locks.

"How did I let this happen?" He asked aloud, knowing he would receive no response. "How could I have let this happen? I told myself I would be there for him, he expected me to be there for him. Gods." He rose in frustration, still mindful of the sleeping teenager, and moved to stand before a small, solitary window.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," whispered Remus mournfully as he caught sight of the constellation. "I've failed you, I've failed Lily and James, even Harry. He's broken, Sirius." The quiet words echoed through the room as a single tear fell from his eye.

"I wish you were here. No matter how many times we joked otherwise, you did always know what to do in times like this. I need you, Siri." A groan interrupted his speech, and Remus turned to see Harry shifting uncomfortably in the sheets, a small cry escaping his lips as he leaned on his broken side. The werewolf rushed to his godson's aid, gently shifting Harry onto his back and slipping in beside him, holding him against his side in a fatherly fashion.

"We need you."

&

Ronald Alexavier Weasley was just like any other sixteen-year-old boy. He played sports, hung out with his friends, thought about sex, and was extremely self-conscious about his appearance.

However, Ron was not exactly what his siblings would describe as "normal".

The youngest son of Arthur and Molly Weasley worried more than his mother and sister combined, was a chess whiz, and did not contain as much family loyalty as his brothers. Whilst Fred and George consulted one another, Charlie and Bill talked, and Percy dug his nose into others' business, Ron mainly sought the company of his younger and only sister, Ginny. Though the two youngest Weasleys were residing in the home of their twin brothers, which was more of a miny joke shop than anything, they could often be found in the room of the other, simply sitting and discussing various things.

At the moment, Ron was sitting lying on his bed, textbooks strewn out around him, parchment scattered in different areas, blinking at the canvas. Lightning lit the sky outside, briefly allowing Ron a view of his make-shift home, which looked identical to his room at the Burrow; messy and unkempt.

"Ron?" The whispered voice of Ginny sounded from behind his door, seeking permission to enter. He simply stared at it, knowing she would come in with or without his acknowledgement. Sure enough, a moment later, the door cracked open, and his sister's freckled face peered in. Ron smiled softly at the fourteen-year-old, and waved her in, hearing distinct voices that sounded like shouting as she shut the door.

"They here again?" He asked dully, flopping back down, scooting over to give Ginny space to do the same. The girl nodded as she joined him, curling up to his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

"About five minutes ago. Mum came in right behind Dad, took one look at him, and instantly started going off about how he "should be home watching the children" and "doing more work for the Order instead of helping those damn Muggles". He argued that he was busy dealing with Fudge and Death Eater attacks on Muggles, and that he comes by to see us more often than she does."

"He does, you know," voiced Ron bitterly. "It's like Mum has forgotten all about us. Constantly praises the twins and goes on and on about poor, misguided Percy, only mentioning us when she talks of Hogwarts or brings us to Head Quarters for dinner. That in itself is a rarity."

"I know," Ginny agreed softly. "It's just, it's like it could really happen now. Before, I thought it was just all talk, but now -"

"Hush," commanded Ron, giving her a tight squeeze. "Don't even talk about it. We will deal with that when it comes down to it." After a moment of silence with no protesting, Ron continued. "On lighter note, heard from Dean lately?" He smiled softly as Ginny chuckled against him.

"Just his usual sap note about how much he misses me and asking when we're going to Diagon Alley so he can snog me senseless." Her chuckles grew louder at Ron's disgusted face. "What about you? Any letters from Hermione and Harry?"

Ron grew grim at the mention of his friends, tensing slightly, causing Ginny's smile to fade.

"Still no answer?" Ron's head shook slightly in response.

"You would think he would jump at the chance to break out of there, or at least turn all Hermione on me and tell me off for such a stupid idea. And of course Miss Know-It-All is off with Viktor doing Merlin only knows what. Urrg." Ginny's smile returned as she jumped at the chance to tease her brother.

"And to think that you had a crush on her!" She prodded, laughing as Ron made another face.

"I know. Honestly, I don't know what was wrong with me."

"You were a child, my dear brother, with a childish crush. At least now you've got your eye on someone better." Ginny's cocoa-brown eyes lit up with delight as Ron's expression went lustful, licking his lips longingly.

"Damn straight," he agreed, and she laughed.

"Well, not -"another knock interrupted them, and both teenagers turned in its direction as Arthur Weasley slid in. Ginny gave a small shriek of joy and raced to her father, wrapping him in an embrace he had no chance of preparing for.

"Hi, Daddy!" Ron watched the scene between father and daughter fondly, smiling slightly as they hugged lovingly, and walked up to them.

"Hullo, Dad," he greeted in a much more controlled manor. Arthur released his daughter, though he kept an arm around her shoulder, and beamed at his youngest son, before drawing him into his own hug.

"How's work?" asked Ginny as the two males pulled apart, gazing at her father sympathetically as the man let out a long-suffering sigh. "That bad?"

"Worse," argued Arthur warily. "The stupid bastard of a Minister is so involved in interviews with the press and choosing new Aurors that V-Vo-Voldemort has been having it easy with the Muggles. Fourteen dead as of last night, can you imagine? Daily Prophet's having a field day."

"I can imagine," agreed Ron grimly. "Poor Harry, he must have heard about it."

"The Muggles are coming up with their own causes of death for now, but you're right, he's probably figured it out ...damn." The watch on Arthur's wrist began to flash yellow, and he looked at his children apologetically.

"It's alright, Dad, we understand," Ginny assured him quickly, giving him another quick hug. "Just be careful, ok?"

"Yeah," added Ron. "We have enough of the heroness in the family already, we don't need you in the mix, too." Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.

"I'll be back soon," he promised. He placed a kiss on top of Ginny's head and ruffled Ron's hair. "Go to bed," he ordered as he reached the door. "I love you both."

"There he goes again," said Ginny sadly when he was gone, sagging against Ron's side once more.

"At least he comes."

&

"Are you certain?" Robert cringed at the black Auror's harsh tone, but nodded firmly nonetheless.

"It was that very scar?" Robert nodded again, sending a short wizard in the corner into a fit.

"He lies!" hissed Dolores Umbridge in outrage, spittle flying from her mouth. "Harry Potter is safe at home in his bed. This idiot doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Madame Umbridge, please control yourself," soothed Albus, who had been sitting quietly in his plush chair until this point. "This shall all be cleared up once Healer de' Loncre returns with the blood sample."

Robert studied the four wizards surrounding him warily. He had firecalled the Ministry of Magic and explained the situation. The woman he had spoken with had not shown much interest until he had given a discription of the boy he had tended to. The next thing he knew he was in the company of the Minister of Magic, his Assistant, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's Headmaster, and a highly respected Auror. America was looking more welcoming be the minute.

"Here he is now." Everyone looked up at Dumbledore's words as the healer entered the room, followed closely by a rather tall red-haired man Robert hadn't seen yet. "And Arthur, too. Excellent timing."

"Is it his?" demanded Corneilius Fudge, speaking for the first time since his arrival. Healer de' Loncre looked hesitant for a moment before nodding. The reactions were instant. Albus' eyes closed as he let out a ragged, defeated sigh. Dolores Umbridge looked rather pleased, whilst the Minister had gone ashen. Arthur and Robert were the only ones without a major emotion effecting them.

"What's going on?" inquired Arthur anxiously. "Albus?"

The Headmaster took in a deep breath, opening his eyes and gazing mournfully at the younger man.

"It appears, Arthur, that Lord Voldemort has finally captured Mr. Potter."

TBC

No, the incest is NOT between Ron and Ginny.

Sorry the chapter is so short, it's more of a clue thing anyways. I think it sucks... I KNOW it sucks... but yeah ._. What can you do? The story writes itself, and I just type it on the keyboard o_O


	3. Return of a Weasley

  
Author's notes: [DracoHarry slash] AU 6th year. Not for Dumble fans. Remus steals Harry from the abusive Dursleys, determined to save the boy from his fate. Used, beaten & abandoned by his friends, Harry's Slytherin side surfaces. He is a pawn no longer...  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels.

I think I’ll lose quite a few of my non-incest liker readers because of this chapter. -smirk-

Warnings: Slash, incest, implied sex, language, smoking, and spoilers.

To my reviewers: Thank you for your comments. I’m glad you like the story ^_^

Chapter Three

He moved quickly, keeping to the shadows to avoid being spotted by early-morning dwellers that would find his presence more than unsettling. Though the streets of Slipknot Alley were welcome to anyone, many were still wary of Ministry officials after the attack on Professors Hagrid and McGonagall had become public. There were several who would jump at the chance to put in their penny’s worth about the previous year’s happenings, and it was best not to give them reason to do so, as being caught associating with whom he was supposed to meet was not something he wished for.

He made his way to the back lot, to the crossroads that led to both Diagon and Knockturn Alley, and swiftly entered the pub at its core, making sure to keep his hood drawn firmly over his face to block the first rays of sun for providing his identity to the crowd inside.

Amber eyes scanned the two-story tavern, body tense as he searched for the elegant build of the other man. He scanned several drunks, some of who were passed out at his feet, drool spilling from their open mouths, and those who were obviously boarding there, sitting around in their pajamas and conversing with their neighbors. It was not the most, appealing of places, with its unclean environment and shifty residents, but it was for that reason that he had chosen Dienot as their rendezvous point.

“Punctual as always, Sacrament,” said an amused voice sarcastically from behind him.

Percy Weasley simply rolled his eyes as he turned to face the white-cloaked figure, whose smile could just barely be seen from behind the smoking wooden pipe in his mouth. The man motioned for him to take the chair across, to which he obeyed, raising an eyebrow as the pipe released another puff of smoke.

“New habit?” He questioned needlessly. “Smoking isn’t like you, Seraph.”

“Nyah!” The other man dismissed Percy’s words with a wave of his hand. “Have to find some way to keep myself occupied.” Ignoring the boy’s disbelieving look, he continued. “What’s the news tonight? Trelawney foresee an actual death?”

“He’s no longer with his relatives,” Percy deadpanned, signaling a scantly dressed waitress. “Fudge told me. Yes, a Butterbeer if you will.”

“And?” Seraph prompted, listening so intently that he did not notice the lack of smoke originating from his pipe.

The red-haired wizard waited for the waitress to leave before speaking, eyes both amused and skeptical at once. “Dumbledore claims Savior was captured by a Death Eater and is now in the possession of Voldemort.”

The white-robed figure did not blanch at the use of the Dark Lord’s name, nor did he show a panicked reaction to the capturing of the Boy Who Lived. Instead, he merely looked contemplative, his smirk returning as the wheels in his head turned, digesting and analyzing the words in a way Percy was sure would put Hermione Granger to shame.

“No matter how insane that bastard is, I swear he’s a genius.”

“What?” Percy demanded, shooting his mentor a dubious look. Seraph just chuckled, relighting his pipe with a flick of his wand before his offered an answer.

“Albus isn’t stupid, contrary to popular belief. He knows the wards around that house won’t allow anything with the intent to harm Savior within a mile of him.”

“But, then why…?”

“Simple, he doesn’t want the Ministry involved. Whilst Fudge might overlook the boy’s treatment with his relatives, it’s highly doubtful that he would handle the investigation. Someone like Madame Bones would have Savior removed from their care in an instant if she knew their behavior, and of course the Headmaster wouldn’t want that.” Seraph shook his white-hooded head as he processed his own words. “Crafty, that man. Amazing he wasn’t in Slytherin.”

“So what do we do? Surely we don’t leave them out there to fend for themselves. If what you say is true, Dumbledore will realize Silver’s involved, and then it’s all lost.”

“Of course we’re not going to leave them by themselves!” The other man growled fiercely, startling Percy as his fist hit the table with a bang. “I was given a task, and I do not intend on failing it. Nothing is going to happen to them.”

“So what. Do. We. Do?” Percy repeated jadedly, rubbing his eyes. The older wizard didn’t answer, instead rising from his seat and adjusting his pure-white robes, placing his wand carefully in the front pocket.

“Seraph?”

“Here,” said Seraph, tossing a small silver ball to his charge. “When you get into London, hold that in the palm of your hand and say “find” and then who’s name.” The wizard paused, looking somewhat reluctant to be leaving the task within Percy’s hands. “Just, take them some where safe, keep them safe. If you can do that, I just might let you handle some bigger missions than being a messenger.” Not giving Percy a chance to respond, Seraph turned, white roes billowing behind him as he strived towards the door, somehow, in all his magnificence, managing not to draw another soul’s attention. Percy stared after him, palm closing around the small silver ball that would lead him to his destination.

“Here,” a high-pitched, squeaky voice drew him back to the presence, the waitress plunking a mug of yellow, frothy, and old-looking Butterbeer in front of him. “That’ll be forty knuts.”

&

To some people, being the best friend of the Boy Who Lived was something they dreamed about, or went out of their way to attempt such a happening. To be the best friend of Harry Potter assured you fame, respect, and your own personal ‘body guard’ who would always be around to protect you. You would treated favorably by most of the teachers of Hogwarts, get out of detentions since your wrong-doings were heroic, and be able to go on all sorts of adventures without ever having to worry about getting in trouble or expelled.

Yes, being the best friend to the Savior of the Wizarding World certainly had its quirks. However, nothing good ever came without consequences trailing unforeseen behind it.

On the early morning of July fifteenth, most were still sleeping soundly in their beds, either possessing no worries with which to keep them stirring or being too exhausted by them to stay up a moment longer. But inside the walls of Granger Manor, one person was wide-awake, sitting rigidly at a wooden desk with several books strewn out before her.

Fifteen-year-old Hermione Ann Granger rubbed at her red eyes tiredly, blinking rapidly as she attempted to focus on the potions text before her. The brunette Gryffindor was one of the precious two who could claim to be best friends with Harry Potter, to be one of his confidants and advisors. However, unlike most people, this was not Hermione’s ideal way to live. Sure, at first it had been a grand experience. Her, a Muggle-born first year with no friends, becoming all buddy-buddy with the Boy Who Lived was something no one, save perhaps the Headmaster, had seen coming. It had been pure bliss for the then eleven-year-old Hermione, having both Harry and Ron around, being at the top of all her classes, the most popular girl in Gryffindor tower. But then the fight with Voldemort had occurred, and they had been given their recognition…

She didn’t know what she had been expecting, really. Of course her peers would be more interested in Ron’s Chess strategy and Harry’s near-death experience than in her use of logic. It was expected of her to be logical, so it was really nothing to be all that excited about. It had still hurt, however, to hear everyone congratulating Harry and Ron on their actions, and only receiving acknowledgement for hers from Dumbledore and McGonagall. That was when Hermione began to realize that though she was their friend, Ron and Harry were more interesting for their bravery and bond than she was for her intellect.

That had not been the only event that had made the girl notice this. There were the happenings of second year, where Ron and Harry had gotten awards for special services to the school, and Hermione had received nothing, though the boys would not have been able to find the Chamber of Secrets without her information. Then there was the whole Sirius situation of third year, where the animagus had been more captivated by her best friends than by her, getting them more involved and recognized by his insane actions than they already were. Of course, there were the rumors of fourth year, and all of the Howlers she had been sent, along with the ‘minor’ fact that Harry would have missed Ron more than he would have missed her. Then, there was last year…

Harry had learned the hard way that Hermione was seldom wrong, and she had realized just exactly how much he valued her intelligence. Despite the hurt she felt when he had ignored her warnings, she followed him to the Department of Mysteries, and fought alongside him and their friends until a powerful and usually fatal curse had taken her from the battle. She had woken up in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing a few hours later, beside a slumbering Ron, and had been told the results of their foolish actions. In the end, Harry Potter had lost his godfather, but had regained his title as The Boy Who Lived, and was lavished with attention of affection from all who surrounded him, leaving her once again in the shadows, ignored and unpraised. Not even her parents knew of her heroic deeds.

Not anymore. No longer would she stand on the sidelines and let Harry take the credit for her actions.

For the past month, Hermione had buried her nose in every book of magic and potions she could find, whether Muggle or Wizard, and studied it all. She had not slept for days, incantations and ingredients keeping her mind too wired to rest. She learnt how to dismantle the magic tracer on her wand, and practiced spells so advanced not even wizarding college professors knew of them. She was quite skilled at the severing charm…

Hermione was no longer interested in her studies, no longer had the desire to be at the top of every class, to show off her knowledge like the little know-it-all everyone referred to her as. Instead, inside of her burned a new passion, one to be recognized, known, and respected. To be more powerful than Harry Potter could ever hope to be, and the one who would overtake his destiny and rid the Wizarding World of the Dark Lord for good.

A sharp wrap at her window tore Hermione from the world of extremely difficult brewing, honey eyes falling onto the owl outside it, and the newspaper knotted to its leg.

&

Even though dawn had just risen, the sun not yet shining through windows to awaken slumbering people, he was already up. Actually, he wasn’t quite sure he could consider himself ‘already awake’ when actually he had yet to go to bed. Dark brown bags had formed beneath his dull, bloodshot eyes, usually smooth, kept hair still tangled and wet from the shower, body covered only by a pair of silk green boxers. Sleep was a wonderful, beautiful thing, in which the sleeper was permitted to enter a world of dreams that were entirely their own, and got to rest doing so.

Draconis Lucius Malfoy had obviously been deprived of the natural reliever, though he seemed uncaring as he took in a breath from his cigarette, shooting an annoyed look towards his wall, where the load moans of his mother and Avery could be heard clearly.

For the past month, not even a week after his father’s imprisonment, Narcissa Malfoy (or Black, as Draco now thought of her), had been “seeing” the Death Eater. That in its self was nothing new to Draco. It was expected, even accepted, for the spouses of an arranged marriage to have lovers on the side, and lovers the elder Malfoys did have. It was not proper not acceptable, however, for the spouse to be seen with their lover in public, nor for the wife and her companion to partake in their activities within the house of the husband, and most certainly not in his bed. Lucius had abided by these customs, even going so far as to openly spoil the woman he did not love, and deny having any other relationship whatsoever. Draco highly doubted his father would be pleased with Narcissa’s recent behavior.

And then there was Avery. A lowly Death Eater, the Malfoy heir had never foreseen the affair between the idiot oaf and his mother. He was a bulky, grotesque faced man with nothing to his name; surely not someone Narcissa would have taken interest in years ago. But every day Avery would lord around Malfoy Manor, ordering the house-elves around and even going as far as to get parental with Draco himself. Of course, the blonde paid no mind, and kept his composure, though his insides seethed with hate at the man and the authority the Death Eater believed to have over him.

Draco sneered as the duo released a chorus of intense moans and earsplitting screams, signaling an end to their atrocious activities, and shuddered at the horrific mental image the accompanied it. With a sigh of exasperation, he inhaled more smoke, briefly entertaining what his father would say at his newly developed addiction. Merlin knew he would not be pleased with that, either.

‘Not that he will ever see it.’ Thought the sixteen-year-old bitterly, scowling as he gazed out of his window.   
“This house is just filled with disgusting things.” The voice of Blaise Zabini echoed through the room, to which Draco simpered and turned to face the raven-haired Slytherin, whose nose was scrunched in distaste.

“That question is, whose habit is more repulsive, mine or Ms. Blacks?” His friend shook his head, moving over to the bed and snatching the cigarette from Draco’s mouth.

“Narcissa’s, without doubt, but yours is a close second, my dear Dragon.” The black-haired boy extinguished the stick on the bottom of his shoe, flicking the butt at the blonde’s messy locks. “And then, of course, your appearance comes next. You look like shit, Dray.”

“Is there a valid reason you came here, Blaise?” snapped Draco, retrieving another cigarette and lighter from his dresser drawer. Blaise instantly became somber, reaching into the pocket of his turquoise robes and withdrawing a still-crisp Daily Prophet.

“Special edition. I know you cancelled your subscription. Here.” Draco caught the newspaper easily, shooting his friend an irritated and curious look as he unfolded the paper, the smell of still-fresh ink attacking his senses as his eyes took in the headline.

BOY WHO LIVED: CAPTURED BY YOU-KNOW-WHO?

At exactly three o’clock this morning, whilst most were still asleep in their beds, Minister of Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge held an emergency press conference in which he revealed that Mr. Harry J. Potter is now within He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s hands.

At one-thirty this morning, Mr. Potter, along with his captor, an unknown Death Eater, were spotted by Healer Robert Brashaw, who was called upon by the Death Eater to tend to Mr. Potter’s injuries.

“They were horrific,” says Brashaw, a dazed look in his eyes. “Like the boy had been beaten for weeks with no break. I honestly have no idea as to how he survived as long as he did without medical attention.”

Albus Dumbledore confirmed the Minister’s words, but one must wonder, was Mr. Potter ever truly safe? Headmaster Dumbledore claimed that there had been wards surrounding Mr. Potter’s relatives’ home, and yet a Death Eater has managed to get past them. Has the Headmaster of Hogwarts finally reached the age of retirement? Should we really trust someone so careless as Albus Dumbledore with our Savior?

All we can do now is hope and pray for the safe return of Harry Potter. Our hearts are with him.

Elaine Turpin

Associated Press

‘Terrible reporter’ thought Draco as he tossed the paper aside. “It’s not true,” he declared, looking Blaise in the eye. “Avery would have been gloating about a plan to get Potter for weeks. He probably just ran off, spoiled little Golden Boy that he is.” He was surprised when Blaise shook his head, his long black braid flinging around dangerously as he did so.

“I don’t think so, Draco. Avery’s been seeing quite a lot of Narcissa’s bed recently. He probably hasn’t been to a Death Eater meeting in days, so it’s possible that he might not have known about it.” Draco tapped his cigarette lightly, relieving it of its excess ashes as he sighed in revulsion.

“My mind, Zabini, my mind? Must you bring up those images? Merlin, you could give Voldemort nightmares with them.” The other Slytherin merely rolled his eyes as he strolled across the room to collect the strewn Prophet. “Besides, who cares about Dumbledore’s toy anyways?” He added with a grumble. Blaise snorted as he reached under the prop table for the ‘Help Wanted’ section.

“You know you do, Draco. You care about anyone who’s in Lucius’ position.” The blonde did not reply, and an uncomfortable silence filled the room, interrupted by the loud, steady sound of Avery’s snores.

“Blaise?” asked Draco suddenly, peering at his cigarette as though studying it, though his focus was truly on the boy across from him. “I’ve been thinking…” He drew off, deciding his cigarette looked more appealing than his words, and inhaled it. The other, however, had now had his attention caught, giving the Malfoy heir a curious glance, straightening the papers and returning to stand in front of his friend.

“That’s always a horrifying experience. About what?” Draco considered his words carefully before phrasing them.

“Dumbledore’s done nothing,” he stated seriously. “Father’s been in prison for a month, and without the old fool’s testament, he’ll be in there for the rest of forever.” Blaise nodded, though he still seemed genuinely confused.

“The point?” Draco smiled grimly at that, flinching slightly as Narcissa’s high-pitched laughter reached the top floor.

“With the Dementors gone, the chances of breaking into Azkaban are significantly high.”

&

Love is the world’s largest and most famous emotion, though it beats anger and revenge by only a slim margin. It was said that you could not help whom it was you fell in love with, whether it be male, female, eunuch, beast, whatever. Fred could not help but agree with them as he stared loving into the face of the slumbering boy beside him. Though they were identical, he did not think there was a more exquisite creature on the earth than his twin.

Many would find the relationship between Fred and George Weasley a disgusting one, and the twins had no doubt their father would most likely disinherit them if he were to find out, but the Hogwarts drop-outs could not help but not care. They had the approval of their old Quidditch team, as well as Lee Jordan, who had simply smiled at them knowingly when the twins had revealed their secret. The boys had also been forced to endure the endless cooing by Katie, Angelina, and Alicia over how sweet it was and how cute they were together, though of course they had acted very flattered by the comments. And even though it did annoy them slightly that they could not be openly affectionate within their own home, due to the spontaneous comings and goings of their siblings and parents, George and Fred were mostly content simply being together as they were now.

“George,” whispered Fred, reaching out and stroking his brother’s face softly. “George, it’s time to wake up and feed the kiddies.” A smile lit his freckled face as the other’s scrunched up in irritation, bleary brown eyes cracking open warily.

“Why? They can fend for themselves. Go back to sleep, Forge,” murmured the read-head tiredly, smothering his face into his pillow, causing his lover to smile fondly at the sight.

“Do you really want ickle Ronniekins cooking, my dear George? I thought you liked the Tunnel?” This, of course, seized his brother’s mind instantly, and George flew from the bed, looking around hastily for his clothes whilst reprimanding his twin.

“Do not just stand there, you git, go and stop him!”

The Tunnel, unlike its predecessor, the Burrow, was a lavish, yet very interesting two-story manor, complete with six rooms and an experimenting basement. Large blown up pictures of famous witches and wizards decorated the walls, their hair turned various colors and their faces drawn upon by their eccentric owners (much to their chagrin, of course). Not one room looked the same, even down to the carpet, where the living room’s was a royal purple, whilst the study’s was a bright, wildflower yellow. The kitchen, however, was the strangest room, and George’s pride, as he was the one who had designed it. Circular shaped, the cooking area had bewitched wooden owls hanging from the ceiling, charmed to hoot at random times during the day in hopes of startling guests. It’s stove was large, made so for Fred’s technique of cooking several dishes at once, and had been turned a bright baby blue to draw attention to its magnificence, the sink next to it a shining gold. On the floor, the Weasley twins had planted never-dieing grass, and had cast a spell on the walls to reflect an outside that went into accordance to its occupants’ mood. Perhaps the most amusing aspect of the kitchen, however, was the picture of Albus Dumbledore on an enlarged Chocolate Frog card, his hair in Mohawk and sporting a pierced eyebrow, nose, tongue and ear, occasionally voicing things like “Would you like a Sherbert Lemon?” and “Let’s you and me get high!” (which had been accidently added).

Luckily for Fred and George, the actual Albus Dumbledore had found humor in it, and the picture still hung above the breakfast table, unnatural ancient blue eyes twinkling down at any who had the courage to eat there.

As Fred strolled into the kitchen, pulling an infamous Weasley sweater over his head, he was surprised to find his two younger siblings sitting at the table, pouring over a black and white Quibbler instead of attempting to make breakfast. Ron’s owl, Pig, was at the table as well, happily munching away on the Canary Creams in the center, turning into the yellow bird every other minute, the experience seeming to excite him more.

“A load of rubbish.” He heard Ron mutter. “He’s faking it. Probably got the Muggles in on it, too.”

“Rather rude of him to ignore your offer and go off on his own,” his sister agreed, snatching the rest of the trick cake from the now dejected owl.

“What have got there?” Interrupted Fred, curiously attempting to peer at the headline. Ginny and Ron’s heads shot up at his words, but before the two could reply, George rushed into the room, shirt buttoned incorrectly in his haste to reach his lover. Within his hand he clutched the Quibbler, the words “Harry Potter” blaring across the top.

&

Three hours later found Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and assumed Death Eater in training, and Blaise Zabini, a rather unknown pureblood, sitting uncomfortably on the small Azkaban Ferry, their eyes constantly shifting to keep from meeting those of the other passengers, who watched them inquisitively. After all, it was not often that you saw two rich under-aged wizards going to the most fearful wizarding prison in Britain.

“This is such a bad idea,” moaned the raven-haired Slytherin, cobalt eyes staring into the mist that cloaked the penitentiary from view. Draco ignored him in favor of his newly-lit cigarette, which he smoked as he, too, peered into the fog. “I mean, we don’t even know if Fudge had all the Dementors removed. Can you imagine how they will react when we try to remove a top-security prisoner?” He added in a fierce whisper.

“Blaise.”

“And we don’t even know that state of your father’s health. No doubt he’s malnourished, and weak, too. They don’t let inmates out to exercise, do they?”

“Blaise.”

“And if the Dementors are still there, I highly doubt he’ll even be in his right mind. He might not even recognize you, and start screaming and get us caught-.”

“Blaise Caradoc Gideon Zabini, if you don’tnot shut up now I will toss you overboard,” Draco hissed, silver eyes flashing as his friend quieted. “Besides, even if the bloody Dementors are there, they won’t be able to stop us, because we have this.” He withdrew a thin chain from under his shirt collar, the bronze owl attached to it gleaming brightly.

“We’re going to ward away Dementors with a necklace?” asked Blaise skeptically, reaching for the charm and giving it an extremely doubtful look.

“No, you idiot. I thought you were a Slytherin. It’s a portkey.”

“Portkey? How the bloody hell did you get a portkey?”

“I made it myself,” said Draco proudly, retrieving it from Blaise’s grasp and replacing it. The younger wizard, however, did not look too impressed.

“An unauthorized portkey? No need to worry about getting Lucius out, we’ll be in the cell next to him! How do you even know if it

“Keep it down, will you? No one’s going to find out because it will take us straight back to Malfoy Manor, and the wards will block it. And of course it works, Uncle Severus showed me how to make them last summer.”

“Perhaps we should have asked for his help,” whispered Blaise as the outline of Azkaban started to become noticeable through the fog. Draco shook his head as he tossed his cigarette into the water.

“He can’t compromise his position as spy.” However, the soon-to-be sixth year Slytherin could not help but wish for his godfather’s presence as the ten-story tilting fortress became completely visible.

&

Percy strolled across the lawn of the large gray-brick manor, shuddering at the sight of the glaring, non-magical gargoyle statues, which appeared as though they could spring to life at any moment and devour him. The house itself was a dreary looking place, though that was to be expected, as it had not been used for several years until now. He assumed house-elves had stayed to tend to the grounds, as he highly doubted its owner had grown the beautiful arrangement of flowers on his own.

He trusted Seraph greatly; he had worked for the man since last summer, bringing him news of the wizarding world, distancing himself from his family to fulfill his duties. It had been painful to be so cruel to the people that ment everything to him, but the result had been worth it, Seraph had been able to complete his own tasks with the information Percy provided him, and that was far more important than avoiding a few trifles with the Weasley Clan.

Yes, he trusted the elder wizard, but there were several times when he doubted the man’s sanity, this being one of them.

As Percy reached the front door, he avoided using the serpent knocker, its creepy emerald eyes seeming to say, “Yes, if you touch me, I WILL bite you.” And instead pounded harshly on the thick rosewood door. Not even a second later, a small, floppy-eared pumpkin-colored house-elf opened it, gazing at Percy with deep orange eyes.

“May Autumn help yous, sir?” It squeaked, causing Percy to flinch as he attempted a smile.

“Yes. Is Severus Snape in?”

&

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.

And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live whiles the other survives.”

Seraph repeated these words as he flipped through the ancient potions text, white cloak and hood still in place though he was in the safety of his realm. The prophecy was old news to him, he had been within the same pub as Sibyll Trelawney when she had gone into her trance and revealed the destiny of a child not even born. He had also seen the gleam in Albus Dumbledore’s eyes at the thought of another approaching war, a new chance to play hero and figurehead.

What the old man did not realize, however, was that he was responsible for the rise of Voldemort, as well as the first and second war. In his hopes to become useful once again, he had become a villain, destroying the lives of two innocent children and condemning the wizarding world to decades worth of pain and misery. His choices would lead to his downfall.

‘I do hope you are ready for your destiny, Mr. Potter.’ He thought sadly as he neared the part in the book he needed. ‘And your heritage.’ He landed on the page.

“The Ephebus Recro Solution.”

TBC


	4. Bloodbath

  
Author's notes: [DracoHarry slash] AU 6th year. Not for Dumble fans. Remus steals Harry from the abusive Dursleys, determined to save the boy from his fate. Used, beaten & abandoned by his friends, Harry's Slytherin side surfaces. He is a pawn no longer...  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels.

 

Warnings: Slash, child abuse, self-destructive actions, AU, character death, torture, language, and violence.

To readers: Damn…wow…thank you, so much for your reviews! 

Chapter Four

As Ronald Weasley would no doubt claim, chess was a game of pure strategy, and not one to be taken lightly under any circumstances. Sacrifices had to be made to achieve victory, but giving up the wrong piece could leave you at your opponent’s mercy. As he stood before the large glass window of the Hogwarts Head Office, Albus Dumbledore he was beginning to wonder if he had made that fatal mistake.

Only a week after the death of Sirius Black, Albus had written to the guardians of Harry Potter. The old wizard had been extremely unnerved by the teenager’s reaction at the loss of his godfather, and by his lack thereof when he had learned of the prophecy. It had been far too similar to how young Thomas Riddle had acted in his sixth year, when Armando Dippet had informed him that it would yet again be impossible for him to remain within the walls of Hogwarts during the summer holidays, and to quit telling lies about his treatment by the Muggles at the orphanage. Albus realized his errors accompanied with the situation now, but it was, of course, too late to correct them, and as a result, Lord Voldemort now roamed the Wizarding World in young Tom’s place, killing anyone he did not take a fancy to. He was determined to rectify his mistake, and to rid his community of the devil he had helped create. So in a last ditch effort to do so, Albus had given the Dursleys permission to ‘punish’ Harry, something they had written to him requesting since their nephew had turned two. The plan had been that when the time came, the Order would whisk Harry away from the torture in which his relatives rained on him, and the Boy Who Lived would be eternally grateful, and would stay with the light side because of it, as Tom would have done had Albus acted.

However, fate had seen it fit to gift him with a stubborn and self-centered world savior. Instead of staying with the Dursleys, as Albus had commanded him to do, the idiot child had indulged the aid of a friend to help him escape. Someone from Hogwarts, perhaps, or a foreign student he had befriended during fourth year with the tournament. Merlin knew whom that boy associated with when his professors were not watching.

“It’s not his life to do with whatever he wishes!” hissed Albus bitterly. Fawkes, who had been dozing quietly on his perch beside the elderly wizard, squawked indignantly at the words, turning baleful amber eyes towards his companion, who seemed not to have noticed. “Selfish child.”

“A true Slytherin,” cackled a voice from behind. Albus’ ancient blue eyes darted to the side, narrowing at the sight of a gleeful-looking Phineas. “Or as Slytherin as a Gryffindor can be, anyways.”

“May I help you, Phineas?” Inquired the Headmaster with slight shortness. “Or have you come to check on my health?”

“I am already aware of your health, my dear Head. You look as though you are about to keel over at any moment, so it cannot be that good. And, no, I am in no need of your services. I simply saw no reason to hang around Head Quarters when the lovely Violet resides within a portrait here-.”

“You have chosen Violet over Remus?” Albus turned now, eye brows raised to show his intrigue. The Black ancestor waved off the question, giving him a look that clearly asked “Are you aware of what the first four letters of your last name spell?”

“Of course I haven’t, Remus is like a non-painted son to me. No woman would come before him. It is just that since he is no longer living at Grimmuald Place I wanted to pass my time elsewhere.”

“I beg your pardon? What do you mean, Remus is no longer living at the Black Manor?” Demanded the living wizard sharply. By now, the other portraits had been awakened, their watercolor eyes darting back and forth between the arguers, some annoyed at the interruption of their slumber, others amused at the situation. Phineas smiled a brilliant, brief smile towards their audience before offering his reply.

“Remus left late last night, poor thing. He was crying when I got back from our meeting,” here, he sent a sharp glare towards the headmaster before continuing. “Said he needed to get out, and to tell you that he was going to their house, wherever that is.” Phineas drew off with a shrug, looking down to examine his robes for dust that could not possibly exist, whilst Albus looked troubled. He knew exactly what and where their house was.

However, before he could question the portrait further, the entrance to the Head Office opened, and an anxious Kingsley Shacklebolt stuck his dark head inside. When he spotted the Headmaster, he stood straight respectfully.

“We have mass Death Eater movement in Romania.”

.T.

Since he had been a child, Draco Malfoy had been denied nothing. He was raised to believe that nothing was out of his reach, that there was nothing in the world he did not deserve. This lesson (or lack of one) had stuck throughout his life, and he used it to his advantage whenever possible, whether at school, participating in barter, at home whenever he wanted something. So it was quite safe to say that the term ‘no’ was not within Draco’s vocabulary, unless he was using it for himself, and his friends even joked that if someone were to tell him no, he would be absolutely clueless as to what it meant. But as they stood in front of the spiky gates of the hellish Azkaban prison, Blaise Zabini, who had known Draco since the two Slytherins were toddlers, was begging to discover just how wrong their jokes were, as he watched Draco tower over the short and stout entrance guard, whose beady-brown eyes shown with fear whilst his face attempted smugness as the Malfoy heir bellowed loudly at him.

“I demand to see my father at once!” Usually, Draco detested making scenes, which was partially the reason he avoided Pansy so much. In fact, Blaise had no doubt that once the situation had been straightened out, his blonde friend would be horrified at his atrocious public display. But for now, the aristocrat’s spittle rained on the guard’s face, and his hair, which had been gelled back not more than five minutes ago, was now in a disarray, contrasting horribly with his bright pink face.

“I’ve already told ya, Mr. Malfoy, suspected Death Eaters and those bearing the mark are not permitted visitors. Ever since Black escaped, everyone’s been pretty uptight about allowing visitors on the top-security floor-.”

“I don’t give a damn about what the Ministry wants, I insist on seeing my father!” Draco’s usually emotionless face was now in the form of a snarl, and his silver eyes flashed in warning as he reached into his robe pocket. “Now let me in before I blow up the bloody building and release all of your so-called dangerous prisoners!”

“Now, see here, sir! There’s no need for any of that,” beseeched the stout man, shooting Blaise a pleading look. With a resounding sigh, the Slytherin placed his left on his enraged friend’s right shoulder.

“Leave it,” he commanded softly. “We’ll go the Ministry and get this straightened out.” For a brief second, Draco’s hand remained in his pocket, and it seemed as though he still intended to use the weapon inside. However, Blaise gave his shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze, and the arm relaxed.

“Indeed,” said the teenager softly, eyes still narrowed at the now relieved guard. “We will return.”

“I’m lookin’ forward to it, Death Eater spawn,” muttered the man as the two turned and walked away, though his sneer quickly turned into a fake, nervous smile as Blaise twisted his head and shot him a withering glare.

.T.

By the appearance of the grounds, no one would suspect Snape Manor to seem warm and inviting to any who entered. Indeed, Percy had always pictured it as similar to the Hogwarts dungeons, with stone walls, stone floors covered with thick green rugs, black leather furniture, and no heat. However, there was not even a single potions cauldron inside the cottage-like castle. The walls were oddly rosewood, obviously placed in layers over the stone, and the floors were made of comfortable beige carpet. Even the chair in which he now sat, though it was leather, was a soft burgundy color.

“Never pictured you with Gryffindor colors in your humble home, Professor Snape,” said the third eldest Weasley cheerfully, taking a sip of the warm tea the house-elf had provided. From across the oak coffee table, his former teacher’s onyx eyes rolled at his words.

“For the last time, it’s Severus. You are no longer my student, brat. And school-house rivalries do not affect my persona outside Hogwarts…that and I happen to like the colors.” Percy snorted, but nodded, accepted the explanation.

He and Severus Snape had been on civil speaking terms since last year, when Severus had been visiting the Minister under Order business. The two had been sitting together, under extreme tension, in Fudge’s office, when Severus had suddenly clutched his arm and screamed in pain. Percy had known about Severus’ spy status as of last summer, as Seraph saw it as important information his own ‘spy’ should have knowledge of. It had been rather tricky to get an obviously in pain member Hogwarts staff out of the Ministry of Magic, but with a few well-played lies added with the fact the Cornelius knew nothing of his visitor, Percy had managed to pull it off, and had sent Severus on his jolly way to attend a meeting with the most dangerous homicidal maniac in the wizarding world. The man had been grateful for Percy’s help, and though he did not outwardly say his thanks, he showed it in allowing Percy to be one of the precious few Severus was actually kind to.

Despite this, the young Weasley had never seen the inside of the other wizard’s house before now.

“Not to be rude, Mr. Weasley-.”

“Percy,” the redhead corrected, grinning slightly at the black-robed figure, who once again rolled his eyes.

“Not to be rude, Percy, but is there something you need, or is this some random social caused by a brief moment of insanity?” He watched with interest as his friend immediately sobered.

“There is something I need. A rather large something, as a matter of fact.”

“I’m not going to like this,” declared Severus instantly, already looking regretful of his question. Percy chuckled dryly.

“No, you won’t,” he agreed, allowing a pause before he continued. “I need you to watch some people for me.”

“I do not have time to go and spy on some idiots just because your stupid boss it too busy to do it himself-.”

“I was actually thinking more along the lines of harboring, but if you would rather go and stay with them in their one-bedroom home, then by all means, do so.”

Severus offered no reply, though his obsidian eyes widened fractionally. Allow people into his home; allow strangers into his home? It was not possible!

“I am aware that I am in your debt, Percy, but I simply cannot afford to take in any refugees at this time. I am certain you can find someone else who will take these people in for you, but I can simply not do so.” Percy looked puzzled at his words.

“You said Voldemort did not know the location of you manor,” he voiced, to which Severus smirked bitterly.

“He doesn’t. There are…other…reasons for which I cannot help you with your request.”

“Which are?” Demanded Percy, anger rising. “These people’s lives are in danger, Severus!”

“Severus?” Percy whirled around at the sound of the new voice, as did Severus, and his jaw hit the floor in shock.

Lucius Alexander Malfoy, before his incarceration, had been constantly nominated as the most handsome man in Britain over forty, beating out Gilderoy Lockhart on several occasions. However, the man standing before the two wizards, whose eyes shifted between them nervously, was hardly the aristocrat Percy remembered. His once long, smooth blonde hair now resembled that of his younger brother, Ron, except cut far sloppier. He was no longer lean and built, but thin and frail, his elegant night-robe not even hiding his malnourished form. His face was pale and gaunt, his eyes blurry and untrusting. All in all, Lucius was the spitting image of an Azkaban prisoner who had lived under the torture of Dementors for years.

Unable to form any words, Percy could say nothing as Severus rose and rushed to the patriarch, who took a small, involuntary step backwards at the sudden movement, and caught his hands in his own.

“I told you to stay in bed,” said Severus gently, causing Lucius to look down sheepishly.

“I’m apologize, but I heard voices. Is he one of Weasley’s children? Will I have to back to Azkaban?” The last words were fearful, showing just how much the usually self-confident and intimidating man had changed during his imprisonment.

“Of course you won’t,” assured the Slytherin Head soothingly. “That is Percy Weasley, yes, but he is a friend of mine. He’ll say nothing of your location, if he wants my help. But enough about that, you need to go back to bed.” He gave Lucius’ cold hands a light squeeze, and the blonde nodded obediently. Giving Percy one last distrustful look, Lucius turned towards Autum, who had quietly slipped in, and followed the house-elf out of the room and up the stairs. Seeing that his charge was in safe hands, Severus turned back to Percy, whose face still shown clear with shock.

“As you can see, Lucius Malfoy no longer resides within an Azkaban cell,” he started dryly. “A highly-intelligent house-elf by the name of Corny sits in his place, and takes the Polyjuice every hour and fifty-five minutes to stay under his guise. Now, before you lecture me, I have several good reasons as to why he is currently within my house-.”

“What possible ‘good reasons’ could you have for helping a Death Eater escape a punishment he deserved?” Bellowed Percy, having at last found his voice. However, both men winced at the sound of a thud from upstairs, accompanied with muttered apologies from Lucius and reassurances from Autum. Severus glanced sharply at the red-haired twenty-year-old.

“Keep your voice down!” He snarled softly. “Better yet, shut up. Lucius is here because he was being tortured, by those stupid bastards you call Aurors and by the Dementors that were supposed to have been removed from Azkaban a month ago.”

“Tortured?” Asked Percy, slightly pale. “But…how? I don’t understand…”

“Then imagine, spending a month in the most hellish place on earth, being forced to relive your most painful memories for hours on end, every day, by creatures that you told would be gone. Then imagine Aurors, who are supposed to be the ‘do-gooders’ of the Wizarding World, casting the Cruciatus, the Lacer, the Infirmus, even the Gravatus on you after every Dementor visit. Tell me he deserved that!” Though his words were still quiet, the passion behind them made them slam into Percy’s very soul, and for a short moment, he saw himself in Lucius’ shoes, experiencing all of the suffering the aristocrat had gone through.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he said at last, amber eyes seeking out and landing on Severus’ now sitting form. The professor simply sighed, running his hands through his sleek raven hair.

“There’s no need to be,” he admitted reluctantly. “You didn’t know. I just…needed to release my anger at someone, and you were there…now you understand why I cannot take in your people.”

Percy’s eyebrows suddenly shot up, a slow smile cracking upon his face.

“On the contrary, my dear friend, this merely encourages my choice. You handle Lucius wonderfully, and my charges are in need of someone who can do that.”

“Indeed,” said Severus disbelievingly, not looking up.

“Yes,” the wizard enforced. “Severus, you could very well be the answer to my problems! This place is well hidden, so they will most certainly be out of danger, for the most part. And then there is you, Potions Master extraordinaire, you’ll be able to help him with that talent, and both of them with…well…your kindness.” Severus looked ready to object, but Percy waved him off. “Please, Severus, please. You know I wouldn’t ask you with your current circumstances if it wasn’t direly important.”

For a minute, Severus looked contemplative, as though considering the pros and cons of his choice. Finally, he looked up, and gave Percy a small, defeated smile.

“I suppose I shall have to inform Lucius that we will be having guests.”

“Thank you,” breathed Percy, walking over and giving him a clap on the shoulder. “You have no idea what a life-saver you’ve just become. Ill just pop over there and get them, and be back in, oh, say, two hours?”

“That is fine…who are these people, anyways?” Asked Severus as Percy walked towards the door. The redhead stiffened briefly, before smirking and grasping the door handle.

“Remus Lupin and Harry Potter.” And he was gone before Severus had time to react.

.T.

He stared at the building, feeling the immense reluctance to enter that always came whenever he saw it. It was his mother’s birthday today, and he had to visit her. It wasn’t that he did not wish to, of course, it was just that…it was hard, so hard to look at them.

“Neville!” Shouted his grandmother, who stood at the entrance of St. Mungos, his Uncle Archie by her side, clutching three large boxes in his plump arms. “What are you waiting for, boy? Hurry up!”

“Coming!” He called back obediently, casting one last look at the roof before jogging up to the glass window and his relatives.

The day after he arrived home from his fifth year at Hogwarts, Uncle Archie had taken him to Ollivanders to purchase a new wand. Whilst Mr. Ollivander berated his uncle for having not brought him by when he was eleven, he shoved various wands into Neville’s left hand, none of which seemed to work in the slightest. The wand-maker was so intrigued by this that he had drawn off from his lecture and had examined Neville’s hands, before going wide-eyed and exclaiming:

“This isn’t even your wand arm!”

After that, he had thrust the last wand one the counter, a pale yellow one made of oak with the cores of phoenix feather and Unicorn tear (excellent for most spell casting), and when he had waved it, emerald green and blood red sparks had shot from the tip, effectively dousing Ollivanders’ interior in Christmas colors. But the old man had seemed not to notice, and had instead actually seemed quite ecstatic at the choice, muttering words like “brilliant” and “powerful” whilst Uncle Archie paid for the wand.

Since then, Neville had trained extensively with his new wand, understanding that since he now possessed this raw power, revenge on the Lestranges was now a possibility. As a result, his baby fat, which had stuck around far past his toddler days, was transformed into pure, rock-hard muscle, and his height had sky-rocketed from an even 5’2 to an impressive (for him, anyways) 5’9. The only thing from his past he was still cursed with, which resulted in him watching the ground as he walked towards his impatient grandmother, was his infamous clumsiness.

“Finally!” Exclaimed Louise Longbottom when he reached them. “What in the name of Merlin were you looking at?”

“Sorry, Gran,” said Neville insincerely, ignoring the other half of her rant. The old woman huffed, but clutched his hand anyways, and pulled him to the glass display.

“Get hold of your uncle,” she snapped. Neville had just barely done so before all three passed through the barrier and into St. Mungos.

.T.

It was common knowledge to the Order of the Phoenix that Voldemort’s hideout was somewhere around or in Romania, and the area was being watched by of one hundred of its members, all of whom were waiting for any type of movement from the Dark Lord. A little under three hours ago, this action had happened, and fifty Death Eaters were all seen gathering within a small village just outside the outskirts of Conkia. Likes bugs to a Muggle bug-shocker, they had flocked to the area in hopes of ending Lord Voldemort’s reign, or at least diminishing his army by a large margin.

From a manor in the center of London, the previously Thomas Riddle smirked at their stupidity.

Lord Voldemort had never thought the Order a smart bunch, but he had never thought them stupid enough to fall for such an obvious trick, especially not with Dumbledore as the leader. But no, the ‘fighters of good’ were now on a wild goose-chase to try and capture or kill his precious Death Eaters, all of whom held on them a self-activating portkey, that would remove them from Romania once his plan was complete.

“Where is Avery?” He hissed. Every other person in the room stilled at their master’s words, some shaking in fear of punishment, others simply frozen in respect of the man speaking. Then, there was a rushed shuffle, and a blur of black passed through the others as Avery made his way towards the Dark Lord, bowing at his feet and kissing the hem of his robes.

“I am here, My Lord,” he said quietly, not daring to look up, and in doing so, missing Voldemort’s sneer of disgust at his state. His robes were miss-buttoned, and he trembled like a man who had just received mind-blowing pleasure. He truly could not wait until Lucius was back with them, as he desperately wished to see the man suffer at the hand of his beautiful pet.

“Crucio!” Voldemort watched in satisfaction as Avery let out a cry of pain and fell completely to the floor, writhing and twisting as his very bones seemed to betray him, and waved his wand to end it with great disinclination. Other Death Eaters chortled at the punishment of one of their own.

“You are not to partake in your sexual activities in my home again, is that understood?” Snarled the Dark Lord, red eyes narrowing at the figure, who was now trembling in pain instead of pleasure.

“Y-Yes Ma-Master.”

“Good. Now, tell me, are we prepared for the attack, or were you too busy to get it done?”

“We-We are ready, My Lord. The Aurors have all left for the party. The Ministry is completely unguarded, as is St. Mungos.” Voldemort smiled nastily, reaching over to stroke Nagini’s head, to which she preened.

Albus, you are a fool.

.T.

Life-altering, rash, and poorly planned decisions rarely, if ever, came without consequence. As Remus Lupin drew away from the toilet, pale and shaking, it was obvious he was getting his ten-fold. So caught up in getting Harry away from the Dursleys, the werewolf had forgotten that the full moon was in just two days time, and he was paying for it. He was becoming weak, the strain of keeping his hovel intact draining him faster than he normally did on the cycle. As he flushed the toilet and stumbled to the sink, Remus caught sight of the still figure on the white-linen bed, a sense of dread filling him as he watched Harry’s steady breathing. Even if the boy did wake up before the cursed event, there was no guarantee he would be well or safe enough to stay somewhere else whilst Remus suffered his transformation. And he couldn’t leave the house, else it would cease to exist, and Harry would be left vulnerable.

“Have a saved you from one horrible fate just to suffer a worse one?” He asked aloud bitterly, splashing cold water on his face. His godson showed no outward sign of having heard him, not even a twitch of his fingers. With a slightly discouraged sigh, the golden-eyed man moved towards the bed, sitting lightly at Harry’s side, careful not disturb him, and brushed a few raven strands from the boy’s eyes, making the infamous lightning-bolt scar visible to his eye.

“The savoir of the Wizarding World, a werewolf. Wouldn’t that be ironic? The idiots saved by a creature they despise.” He chuckled darkly as he continued to run his fingers through the dark locks of hair. “I would not let that happen,” he assured after a moment. “I’d sooner return you to Dumbledore than let you suffer like that.” He caught sight, then, of Harry’s scarred right arm, and as though possessed, reached out and gently took it into his hands.

Remus had never another person with the same faint red scars as the ones that decorated his own arms, and throughout his years at Hogwarts, had often wished he had, so that he would have someone to talk about it with. But now that he saw them on Harry’s pale skin, he wished for nothing more than for the boy’s arms to be flawless. He had started cutting a month after he had been bitten, to try and bleed out his wolf, to make it feel him dieing, so it would leave and haunt another. To know that his godson, who, if Voldemort was not around, was always seemed as happy as a normal teenager would be, had felt something along the same lines, was almost too much to bear.

“I’ll get us out of this, Pup,” he vowed softly. “One way or another, even if I have to turn myself in.”

“That truly won’t be necessary.” The werewolf’s attention shot to the new figure, its scent attacking his nostrils a familiar one. He gave a toothy grin, though his eyes danced with puzzlement as he turned his head to greet his guest.

“Hello, Percy.”

“Remus,” the redhead nodded, stepping forward. “Have you any idea how hard you are to find?”

“That’s the point,” Remus stated dryly. “How did you find me?”

“Irrelevant,” Percy replied, amber eyes now examining his youngest brother’s best friend. “How is he?”

“He hasn’t woken up yet.” Remus turned back to his godson, scanning him with a tender eye. “I had a healer fix him up, but…” Percy scoffed lightly.

“Yes, the same Healer whose picture is blown up on every copy of the Daily Prophet and Quibbler, along with the story of how he saw him with a Death Eater.”

“What?” demanded the elder wizard sharply.

“You didn’t cover up his scar. Robert Bradshaw saw it, and rushed to inform both the Minister of Magic and Albus Dumbledore.”

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed,” agreed Percy with a nod. “Anyways, I did not come here to berate you for your mistakes. I’ve found you a new sanctuary, and from the looks of it, not a moment too soon. We need to hurry, though. I have to be at the Ministry in an hour. Pick him up,” he ordered, motioning towards the fifteen-year-old.

“Where are we going?” Inquired Remus, ignoring the command as he stood.

“Never mind that, come on. We have to take the long way to get there, and at this rate, I’m going to be late for my meeting with Fudge.” Reluctantly, still looking at Percy with a curious gaze, he scooped Harry up with gentle arms, and cradled him as one would an infant. Seeing that he was ready, the Junior Assistant to the Minister grasped the thin sleeve of the werewolf’s shabby robe, and with a wave of his wand, apparated the three of them away. Those who walked by Remus’ makeshift home did not seem to notice when what had once been a brick wall suddenly turned into a back alley.

.T.

As Severus placed another pillow on the bed of the guest room, a small smile lay on his face as he heard Lucius ask Autum for a glass of water. The Malfoy patriarch had come along way from what he had been two weeks ago, when Severus had first brought him to his manor. The older man had been skittish of everything, weak, and when he spoke, his voice was raspy and cracked continuously. He requested nothing, not even something to eat or news of his son and wife. He had been completely bald; no doubt the Aurors had seen it as degrading to the aristocrat to cut off the hair he prided over, and was so thin Severus could easily count his ribs and the notches of his spine. However, he, along with the help of Autum, were slowly but surely returning Lucius to his former glory, and Severus expected him to be demanding things within a month.

Returning his attention to his current task, Severus’ obsidian eyes scanned over his work. If what the Daily Prophet reported was true, Mr. Potter would require several potions his temporary healer had not been able to provide, and Severus had those lined up by order of need on the nightstand beside the bed closest to the window. And if what he saw of Lupin’s attitude towards Mr. Potter as of late still existed, then Severus was perfectly safe having put another bed right next to Potters.

“Master Severus?” Autum’s squeaky voice broke his train of thought, and he turned his gaze to the orange house-elf.

"Yes?"

"Master Lucius wishes to goes to the library, sirs, and would likes to know if yous would go along."

Severus did not answer immediately, his eyes going over the guest room, making certain everything was ready for the two's arrival. Satisfied, he nodded.

"Alright, then." He followed Autum out of the room, hardly noticing the small ping of pain that shot through his forearm.

.T.

"Mr. Malfoy, there is nothing I can do. The rules were set and agreed upon by the Wizengamot, I do not have the power to break them." Cornelius Fudge sat safely behind his desk as he uttered these words to the Malfoy heir, his eyes nervously darting between a watchful Amelia Bones and a seething Draco, whose only form of restraint was Mr. Zabini's hand clutched discreetly around his elbow.

"Then who the hell does? All I am asking for is to visit my father, damnit! It's not like I am going to kidnap him or anything!" Blaise snorted softly at his friend's words as Madame Bones stepped forward from the corner, brown eyes alight with sympathy as she spoke.

"You could trytaking it up with your Headmaster. He has a good deal of influence over the other members. I'm sure he would do something of your plight, young man." Draco's silver eyes rolled as he jerked his arm from Blaise's grasp.

"Of course he would," he said sarcastically. "He's such a wonderful, powerful man."

"Well, yes," agreed the Head of Law Enforcement, blinking at him oddly. With a loud groan of frustration, the blonde turned, robes billowing behind him, and stormed out the door. Blaise followed, but not before giving the rooms occupants a small bow of respect.

"I apologize for his behavior, though you must admit it is not unfounded. Good day."

"Such a strange boy. I remember when he was just a toddler, so nice and polite. Now look at him," said Fudge in disgust as the door closed behind Blaise's retreating figure. Madame Bones nodded, looking thoughtful.

"You have to remember, though, Cornelius, that he was raised by a Death Eater."

"Yes, well, what are we waiting for? Has Weasley arrived yet? Never mind, why am I asking you?" Pushing aside several scattered pieces of parchment on his desk, and tapped his wand on the small slab beneath them.

"Yes, Minister?" The voice of his secretary rang throughout the room.

"Has my Junior Assistant arrived yet?"

"No sir. Would you like me to send someone for him?" fudge deflated at her words, and Madame Bones' shoulders slumped slightly.

"No, thank you, that won't be necessary."

.T.

Voldemort watched the scene with a hungry gaze, excitement building within him as he watched his Death Eaters get into position.

"My Lord?" Asked Wormtail uncertainly, beady, watery blue eyes turning to his master, who smiled at him maliciously.

"Do it."

.T.

"Can you believe them? "We're sorry", they say. "Ask Dumbledore", they say. Bah! What the hell is the world coming to?" Draco growled as he and Blaise walked past the Fountain of Magic. "There used to be a time when the Ministry would do anything to please the Malfoys."

"Not to be rude, Draco, but that was before your father was arrested for being a Death Eater," said Blaise cautiously, slowing a step incase the Slytherin got offended. However, Draco simply nodded, a defeated look flickering briefly in his silver orbs.

"But that's just it, Blaise, he's not. Bloody Dumbledore." The two walked in tension-filled silence for a moment, before Blaise spoke up.

“Let’s just go talk to Severus. He has clearance from the Headmaster…do you feel that?” The raven-haired Slytherin stopped dead, staring towards the Ministry as Draco gave him a confused look.

“Feel what? You’re awful at changing the subject, Zabini-.” Suddenly, Blaise threw himself onto his friend’s lithe form, throwing them both to the ground, silencing Draco’s words as Britain’s Ministry of Magic exploded with a bam.

.T.

In the Minister’s office, where he and Amelia had just stood, Cornelius now lay on the ground, face covered in dark smudges as he lifted it from the floor. Around him, his once glorious workplace was now in shambles, boulders of what had been the roof and walls littering the floor; one had broken his desk in half. As his beady eyes continued to search, they landed on the magnificent form of Madame Bones, who lay unmoving on her back, icy blue eyes wide in horror, mouth agape as though she had been screaming, a thin trickle of blood running from it.

“Amelia?” He coughed, attempting crawl towards her. “Amelia?”

“She’s dead,” a voice cackled, making Fudge freeze. Despite the small beam of sunlight from the outside, he could not see its owner. “Shame, too. Master could have questioned her.”

“Who are you?” Demanded Cornelius, struggling to push himself up from the floor. Before he was an inch up, however, a foot slammed into his back, smashing his face into the stone floor. The sounding crack that followed signaled that he had broken his nose.

“Master is not very pleased with you,” hissed the voice, keeping its foot firmly in place. “You went against his orders and removed a good deal of the Dementors from Azkaban, and left the rest to torture those who were to be punished in other ways for their failure.”

“It’s not my fault!” Argued Fudge. “Dumbledore was watching me, and the people were already upset about my lack of action against our lord…”

“That is no excuse!” Bellowed the voice, smashing its foot back into him, effectively shutting him up. “You have failed, and for that, you must suffer the consequences.”

“No,” pleaded Fudge. His eyes sought out those of his co-worker, and for a brief instant, terrified brown met lifeless blue.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to do this,” said the voice giddily. “Good-bye, Fudgey. Infula!”

.T.

“What’s wrong with him?” Cried Remus as he and Percy raced across the grounds of Snape Manor to the house itself. Harry was gripped tightly in his arms, though he squirmed in a feudal attempt to escape, releasing a whimper of pain every few seconds, muttering words under his breath as his face was marred by a pained frown. Percy shot a look at the boy as he jogged, but for once, was completely clueless.

“Traitors!” Bellowed Harry suddenly. “Breakers of Oath! They shall die…they shall all suffer!” Remus paled.

“Good Lord, he’s having a vision!” He picked up his pace to catch up to Percy as they neared the manor.

“Find them! Kill them all!”

“Severus!” Shouted the third eldest Weasley, not even waiting for Autum as he threw open the door. “Severus, come in here, quickly!”

“What?” Came the sharp reply of the Hogwarts Professor as he rushed into the room, a timid Lucius at his heels.

“He’s having a vision. Don’t you have potions for that…?” Severus’ eyes went wide at the sight of his student, who was beginning to spasm in the arms of his godfather.

“Yes, yes. Put him on the couch, and for Merlin’s sake, pin him down!” The Potions Master raced out of the room, though his blonde friend remained, watching with interest as the two did as Severus commanded, the elder one kneeling down beside the hurting child, smoothing his hair and whispering comforting words as the boy screamed obscenities, flashes of blonde-haired child crossing through his mind.

.T.

Bellatrix Lestrange smiled brilliantly at the sight of the fleshless former Minister, highly tempted to reach out and taste the blood that seeped through the muscle.

“You over did it a bit, don’t you think, love?” The voice of her husband asked from behind her, his sneer of disgust at the sight obvious from his tone. Bellatrix scoffed.

“Over did it? Hardly. The bastard deserved to live the pain over and over again. I think I went rather easy.” She smirked at her artwork.

“Yes, well,” he fidgeted nervously. “Perhaps it’s time we went? The Aurors are no doubt already on their way here…”

“No,” snapped Bella, eyes alight. “I have some…friends…I want to go visit before we leave.”

“But they’re going to blow up St. Mungos!” Her spouse protested. However, his wife’s smile simply grew.

“I know.”

.T.

“Open this one, Mum,” urged Neville, placing a large, bubble-gum paper wrapped package into his mother’s small hands. The woman smiled softly at him, before looking down at the box, staring at it as though entranced by its appearance.

“You have to rip the paper, Alice,” said Louise gently. Her daughter-in-law, however, shook her head fiercely at the thought, and Mrs. Longbottom sighed as Archie stepped up to the plate.

“That’s alright, Al. Here, I’ll make it so you can still get Nev’s present and keep the wrapping, ok? Conavo!” Instantly, the box folded open, without any of the paper ripping. Looking like a child who had just seen a flower bloom, Alice gave an excited little squeal and cautiously slid her hand into the box, withdrawing with extreme gentleness a glass figurine of a dove, perched on a clear branch, its bewitched wings spreading out as if in stretch. Alice was immediately captivated, the box forgotten as her light green eyes stared in awe at the creature that had once been her animagus form. Uncle Archie gave a low whistle.

“That’s a mighty fine present, Nev,” he complimented, pat his nephew on the back as he watched his sister with sad eyes. Neville nodded in acknowledgement.

“I was hoping it may jog her memory a bit,” he admitted, gaze turning to his father, who was currently examining the present’s box with interest. He had given his wife a nicely drawn picture of themselves, before their torture, something that the Healers had been exclaiming over when the three had arrived, claiming it was an incredible and rare improvement to be able to remember such a thing.

Archie smiled sympathetically, but before he could answer, Louise butted in.

“Archie, come with me to get some tea, would you? We’ll be right back, Neville, dear.” Before his uncle could argue, his grandmother had him by the elbow, and all but dragged him from the room. As the door shut, Neville smiled, and turned back to his parents, who were gazing at him curiously, and mentally thanked Gran for remembering his request.

“I know you can’t really remember me,” he started softly. “Though I pray every night that the next day you will. And even though we’ve never talked, or hung out, or done any of those parent/child bonding stuff other families do, I just wanted you to know that… I love you very much.” His parents simply blinked at him, and then suddenly Alice moved right up to his face, and prodded his shoulder.

“Nev!” She exclaimed, giggling. Holding back the tears that had instantly sprung up, Neville nodded.

“Yeah, Nev.” Satisfied that she had gotten her message through, Alice went back to examining her figurine.

.T.

“That was a nice thing to do,” said Archie in surprise when Louise had finished explaining their reason for leaving. She shot him a glare as the waitress handed her a cup of tea.

“I am capable of kindness, Archable,” she snapped lightly, taking a sip as they turned to head back to the room. “You have just never been fortunate enough to experience it.” Archie laughed.

“Whatever you say, Lou.”

“Aww, how sweet. A Longbottom reunion.” Louise and Archie whirled around at the voice, eyes widening at the sight of pale smirking Bellatrix Lestrange. “I was worried I was going to have to look for you, but as always, my Longbottom prey walks right into my waiting hands.” Louise snarled, bearing her teeth in dog fashion as she withdrew her wand.

“Witch!” She cried, casting a petrifying charm, which the Death Eater dodged with a laugh.

“Always one for stating the obvious, Mrs. Longbottom, just like your dear daughter-in-law.”

“She meant to call you a bitch!” Roared Archie, withdrawing his own wand and charging. By now, several Healers and Mediwitches and wizards had poked their heads out of rooms, curious to see the cause of the ruckus, eyes wide as they did.

“Crucio!” Bellowed the voice of another, sending Archie to the ground, writhing in pain. Bellatrix turned an appraising eye towards her husband.

“I thought you didn’t want to come?”

“I couldn’t very well let you have all of the fun, could I?” Bellatrix simply chuckled as Louise rushed to the side of her daughter’s brother.

“Let him go, you devils! Haven’t you caused my family enough pain?” Their attacker, their robber, their cause of nightmares and feelings of revenge looked thoughtful for a moment, before shaking her blonde head with a cruel smile. Her husband looked around nervously.

“Bella, we need to leave,” he said softly, taking a step back without removing the curse from Archie, whose hair was beginning to turn white from the pain. His wife scrunched up her nose in annoyance, raised her wand, and pointed it at the defiant Mrs. Louise Longbottom.

“Torqueo Ossir!”

.T.

As the historic wizarding hospital of St. Mungos collapsed, and as several foul tasting potions were being forced down his throat, Harry Potter’s emerald eyes shot open, and a loud, ear-piercing scream filled the room that would haunt the other inhabitants for years to come.

TBC


	5. Aftermath

  
Author's notes: AU sixth. No HBP spoilers. Remus steals Harry from the abusive Dursleys, determined to save the boy from his fate. Used, beaten & abandoned by his friends, Harry's Slytherin side surfaces.  


* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Percy Weasley, Hermione Granger, or any other character found within J.K. Rowling’s novels.

To My Reviewers: Thank you for your reviews! -grovels- 

Note: I know there are spelling errors in this story. This is posted off of another site, BEFORE I aquired a beta, and I didn't feel like bothering her to look over old chapters. Next chapter will be better, though. Promise.

Notes 2: Sorry this chapter took so long. I was not aware that I hadn't posted it on here until I saw I only had four o_O ..... Sorry?

Warnings: The usual, along with the fact that Snape is extremely out of character in this chapter. Ye have been warned. Arrr (makes pirate face and holds finger like a pirate hook).

Chapter Five

The last time Albus Dumbledore had seen the Wizarding World in such a state of panic was during the First War, and that had been over fifteen years ago. But that amount of chaos had taken years to form; slowly building up with each disappearance, each unexplained incident, each unsolved murder, until it had finally reached limit and exploded.

This eruption had taken only a matter of minutes.

The Ministry of Magic, a symbol of strength and meaning to the community it served, was unrecognizable. Where it had once stood well over fifteen stories, it was now only five. People screamed in the streets either due to injuries or shock. Volunteers and hopeful family members were shouting names as the dug through the wreckage, an occasional wail escaping their lungs as they found those they were looking for. As Albus himself approached the destroyed building, he found he was holding his breath as Kingsley Shacklebolt came to him, his expression grim.

“We just found the Minister, along with Amelia Bones,” the Auror paused, not looking willing to continue. “It’s not good, Albus. Amelia died in the explosion, and the only way they could recognize Fudge was through a magical scan. He has no skin.” The Headmaster seemed to swallow his withheld breath, and again began to walk forward.

“Has anyone heard from Alastor and Tonks yet?” He demanded.

“No, but I do have a team searching what is believed to be the Auror office. The records also show that Arthur Weasley checked in about four hours prior to the attack. We’re assuming he is in the same area, as his department was closed for the day.” Kingsley cut in front of him and directed him left, where a large group of crimson-cloaked figures where shooting various spells at the rocks before them, either blowing them to pieces in frustration or lifting them with great caution of who might be beneath them. Several more were doing the same on the second and third floor, though no one dared to go further up, as they were the only ones whose interiors were not visible to the eyes of one from the outside. They stopped a few feet from them, watching with intense gazes as the eldest Dumbledore spoke again.

“Do you have any idea why Arthur would come to the Ministry on his day off, when he could have been spending time with his children?” The Auror shot him a sideways glance, mentally scowling as he formed a faux innocent look.

“I thought you might have sent him here with a message to one of the other members, sir-.”

“We found Tonks!” The excited yell of a young man on the second floor interrupted Kingsley’s words, and the bald man turned to see Elsie Boyle, a newly inducted witch from Ireland, waving her wand to form a stretcher. He Apparated instantly, hearing Albus’ own powerful crack right before his disappeared and reappeared next to his team.

The sight that greeted him was truly one he never wished to see again.

Nymphadora Tonks was in her true form, the strain on her body obviously having taken too much out of her for her to be able to hold out her Metamorph. Long black hair fell in tangles around her bruised and battered body, and the tear filled blue eyes that darted around with fear made her a shoe-in for being the long-lost twin to her deceased cousin, Sirius Black. He knelt down to be level with the already blood-soaked carrier, gently running a hand through Tonks’ hair, mindful of her injuries.

“Nymph?” He asked softly, making her eyes fly to his.

“He’s dead…” She whispered, voice wavering. “His eyes…so cold…I tried to get him warm, but…but my wand. I couldn’t find my wand.” Kingsley shot a concerned look to those who surrounded them, continuing to run his hand soothingly through the younger Auror’s hair.

“What is she talking about?” Before anyone could answer, however, another voice broke through the wails coming from further down, sounding more annoyed than anything else.

“Let me be, you fools, I can walk on my own! I didn’t need your help to being with!”

“Alastor,” sighed Albus in relief, eyes leaving the forms of his volunteers as he gazed upon the scene the retired man was making. As though he had somehow heard him, Mad-Eye’s gaze flew to his friend, as his scarred face transformed into an expression that was a mixture of triumph and anger. He broke away from the helpful hands of his rescuers, and strode with a limp towards the larger group.

“I always told ya, didn’t I? CONSTANT VIGILANCE! But did you listen? No siree, you just kept your clean little noses buried in books and reports, and now look what it’s got ya!” He waved a gnarled hand at the wreckage about them, magical eye sweeping the area as his normal, too, fell on his injured co-workers, his face softening somewhat.

“You might want to get her to St. Mungos,” he suggested, nodding towards Tonks. “She took the brunt of it, being by the window and all. Not to mention seeing Arthur…” He drew off, but his old friend was not about to leave something so important unanswered.

“St. Mungos was destroyed not five minutes after the Ministry; we’re using neighboring houses.” Squeaked a standing Auror helpfully. Albus waved him off, standing directly in front of his old friend.

“What of Arthur Weasley?”

Alastor’s blue eyes, though far younger than his own, seemed a thousand years older as they met with his.

“He’s dead.”

.T.

Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Thomas Riddle to his fellow classmates (and still called such by Albus Dumbledore), sat on the tallest chair of the newly adorned Great Hall of Riddle House, Nagini’s head on his lap, crimson eyes following the moves his Death Eaters as the Apparated in. Several, who should have returned after the first wave of attacks on the Ministry of Magic, were nowhere in sight, though some of their partners stood in their usual places.

‘Killed by their idiocy, no doubt,’ mused the Dark Lord, stroking a bony hand across Nagini’s head, a small, grotesque smile forming across his face as she hissed words of contentment. The cracks, snaps, and pops grew further and further apart, drawing Voldemort’s attention to some of the more interesting absences. His eyebrows furrowed, and when he spoke on the matter, his hissed voice was cold and dangerous, with just a hint of curiosity that none but the most observant could hear.

“I sent the Lestranges in after the Ministry was destroyed.” Several of his servants shivered involuntarily in fear, and their eyes darted around the hall nervously.

“Snape is not here either, my Lord,” offered Peter Pettigrew in squeak from his side, watery blue eyes glancing around as well. Nagini raised her head and gave the Animagus a threatening hiss as Voldemort replied.

“I did not call Severus for this assignment,” he snapped, slit-pupil eyes glaring down at the servant who had given him the Potters. Peter cowered away slightly. “You will learn to keep silent unless spoken to, even if I have to remove your tongue to make it so.” Fortunately for Wormtail, he was spared a demonstration of the Dark Lord’s words as at that moment, two loud snaps and a powerful crack echoed throughout the stone hall, jerking everyone’s attention to the center of the room. There were the Lestranges, all three of them, Rodolphus and Rabastan looking worn as they leaned on one another for support, and Bellatrix, who was covered in enough blood for it to be mistaken as her own, looking extremely triumphant as she beamed up at her master.

“You’re late,” snarled the dark wizard, attempting to sound menacing as his eyes gazed probingly at his pet, who was the only one who did not bow respectfully at his words, though whether it was because she was insane, or was truly not frightened, no one but she knew.

“Our apologies, my Lord,” muttered Rabastan.

“Bellatirx and I got a little sidetracked, Master,” added Rodolphus, casting an exasperated glance at his still-beaming wife. Voldemort arched a skinny, almost non-existent eyebrow, not breaking his gaze from Bellatrix, and his Death Eater elaborated. “She found something to play with.”

“I Apparated to them when I realized they were still in St. Mungos,” finished Rabastan. At this, the Dark Lord’s other eyebrow joined its companion, and his stare on his pet intensified, causing the witch to look down sheepishly.

“Mungos, Bella?” He whispered dangerously, causing all to shiver again. “I was under the impression that I gave you an order to go to the Ministry.”

“Oh, but I did, Master!” Shrieked the raven-haired woman, looking back up desperately. “I killed Fudgy, my Lord, just as you commanded.”

“Good,” commended Voldemort, and Bellatrix’s shoulders eased. “And Madame Bones?”

“Died in the explosion, poor thing.” The insane witch pouted for a moment before continuing, beam back in place. “That leaves the post for Minister open for a candidate of your choosing, my Lord.” The self-made Dark Lord nodded.

“Indeed it does,” he agreed, casting a fond look at Bellatrix that no other Death Eater saw. Nagini hissed at the blonde woman threateningly. “You shall be rewarded for your obedience…assuming your escapade at St. Mungos does not spoil my plans…”

“I was merely cleaning up one of my old messes, my Lord,” assured the witch.

“Excellent.” Voldemort turned his crimson gaze to the rest of his followers, who had all been watching the scene nosily, pleased when their gazes shot down to the floor when they met with his. “As there are no other problems seen fit to inform me of,” he made his tone threatening and final, letting it be known that if they were holding something back, it would be found out, and they would suffer. “You may all return to your homes…no, not you, Rabastan.” The Death Eaters brown eyes shot to his master at the words, fearful and knowing of what was to come. “Oh no. You disobeyed my orders.” The Dark Lord raised his wand lazily. “Crucio!” Rodolphus was forced to take several steps back as his brother fell to the floor, screaming and writhing in pain. No one noticed his fists clenching as his wife roared with mad laughter.

“My Lord!”

Even Bellatrix stopped what she was doing at the sound of the voice. It was not often that one interrupted on of the Dark Lord’s torture sessions. In fact, the last to do so had ended up dead a few seconds later. She, along with all but Rabastan, who still arched and curled in pain, turned toward the speaker, watching as the hooded figure made his way briskly towards Voldemort’s chair.

“He didn’t even wait for permission!” Whispered one.

“Rookie,” agreed another.

“Bella, I’ll wager you five Knuts he’s gone before he reaches the steps,” offered the first. Bellatrix simply sneered at the bribing wizard as she continued to watch the scene. Five Knuts was not worth the punishment that she would have to endure if she were caught gambling, which their master frowned heavily upon.

Voldemort lifted the curse from Rabastan as he recognized the figure, not even bothering to reprimand and rebuke Rodolphus as the man went to the aid of his fallen sibling. The dark wizard knew the man approaching him; he was one of his top elites, despite having only been in his service for the past year, of only who he knew the identity of. Usually, the elites were not permitted, under any circumstances, to see his presence during a meeting, to avoid being recognized. This one, however, was one of his most intelligent and obedient of the bunch – something must have been terribly important for the young man to risk punishment to bring light to it.

“My sincerest apologies for the disruption, my Lord,” intoned the figure, bowing to the floor and kissing the hems of the Dark Lord’s robes. “But I found this whilst leaving St. Mungos. I assumed your Death Eaters would have be too preoccupied to have acquired on for you, even if it was as vital as this.” He got to one knee, and withdrew from his black robe pocket an edition of the Daily Prophet. Intrigued, Voldemort reached out a thin hand and pulled the paper out of the others, crimson eyes scanning the words.

BOY WHO LIVED: CAPTURED BY YOU-KNOW-WHO?

At exactly three o’clock this morning, whilst most were still asleep in their beds, Minister of Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge held an emergency press conference in which he revealed the Mr. Harry J. Potter is now within He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s hands…

The group of remaining Death Eaters listened intently as their master read the article. Harry Potter, missing? They knew no Death Eater had captured the infamous Boy Who Lived; there had been no announcement about it, after all, and they all knew how much their master wanted to show them that Potter was just a boy who had gotten lucky. But he was missing? No longer in the care of his relatives, in the safety of their home, where the Dark Lord could not touch him?

Voldemort finished reading the passage, and now stared at the paper with glazed eyes, mind asking the same questions as those of his servants. He was surprised that Severus, whom he knew was in Albus’ circle of trust, had not informed him of this event. For Harry Potter to be away from the protection the crack pot old fool had kept him under for the past fifteen years was a window of opportunity Voldemort could not have even dreamed would arise, and for his faithful spy not to have told him that… That was a thought for another time. His crimson gaze returned to the still kneeling young man, who was looking up at him with cool, respectful eyes.

“You have done well,” he praised softly, reaching out a bony finger and tracing it along the boy’s jaw-line, delighted as the child repressed (though not entirely) a shiver at the contact. “Worthy of your status. But now, you must return to your own assignment. I cannot risk you being discovered at this stage of the game, not after this.” He waved the Prophet pointedly. “How are things going with her, by the way?” These words were soft, so that no one but the boy could hear. He took the Dark Lord’s hint and replied in the same volume.

“Quite well, my Lord. Your plan is working.” Voldemort smiled his grotesque smile in satisfaction.

“Wonderful. Then return to her, and make sure nothing goes wrong. You are fast becoming my favorite.” The boy smiled softly, obviously pleased with the compliment, and Lord Voldemort returned his attention to his Death Eaters, sneering at them.

“What are you still doing here?” He bellowed at them, making some jump. “I told you to leave!” They needed no other encouragement, and with the usual snap, cracks, and pops, disappeared from the hall. Giving him one last bow, the boy was gone with a powerful crack of his own, leaving Voldemort in utter calm.

(It ssseemsss to easssy) hissed Nagini from her position on his lap, breaking silence. Her master nodded his head.

(It doessss) he agreed, stroking her head once more. (But Albussss hassss been known to make missstakesss before.)

(Hmmm.) Was all the large snake had to say on the subject. She pushed her triangular head to the side a little, allowing Voldemort access to her chin. (I don’t like the dark-haired one.)

(Bellatrix?) Nagini nodded slightly and Voldemort let loose a small chuckle. (Do not tell me you’re getting jealousssss, love!)

Nagini said nothing, and Voldemort, knowing exactly how she felt about the topic, did not push it, instead turning his thoughts to more complicated matters.

.T.

He lightly swept his calloused fingers through the raven hair of his godson, golden eyes filled to the rim with tears that refused to fall. He had pictured similar scenarios before, only where Harry was, there had been Sirius, and his hands had been running through his mate's mane of tangled locks, and he had been crying. Sirius' eyes in those dreams had held the same haunted look that now resided in Harry's emerald ones, the look of one who was permanently trapped within the dark confines of their mind, unable to escape, forced to watch the going-ons of the outside world without the ability to do anything about them.

Remus wished desperately that Harry would make some move, one to acknowledge that he knew the werewolf was there, that he could come out of his self-imposed withdrawal anytime he wanted to. Hell, Remus would take a flinch away from his touch if that were what it took. Something! Even a blink. Anything that would prove Severus' diagnosis incorrect.

But he knew the potions master was not wrong. He knew that, despite how much he wished it weren't true, do to recent circumstances, chances were high that Harry Potter would remain in the far corners of his mind, trying to protect himself from further physical, emotional, and mental harm. A single tear made its way out of his left eyes, sliding slowly down his face, leaving a trail of moisture in its wake. He had lost them. The only chance of ever having a perfect life had been ripped away from him. His lover...his son...gone. Another tear fell from the opposite eye, and Remus felt his resolve begin to break.

"Harry," he whispered. The Gryffindor gave no signs of having heard him. "Harry, please." His hand trailed to the teen's face, the other joining to turn it towards him, hitting him with the full, haunting effect of the emerald eyes that were so much, yet so different, from Lily’s. He stroked the smooth skin affectionately. "Don't leave me too, Harry."

Yet Harry remained still, his breathing unchanged, eyes unblinking. The tears that had once bulked at the idea of leaving his eyes now flowed freely down Remus' face, soaking his face with their salty liquid. But the werewolf didn't care. He simply continued to stare into the dead emerald eyes, bottom lip beginning to quiver as realization began to hit, emitting a low moan of despair.

"Oh, Harry." The tears continued to run as he brought his face closer to that of the Boy Who Lived. Gently, carefully, he swept away Harry's bangs to reveal the infamous lightning bolt scar that had plagued the child's life for so long. With a slight moment of hesitation, he brought his lips to it, and kissed, waves of grief and pain flowing through him as he was engulfed in darkness.

.T.

He stared at the bowl in front of him, sharp blue eyes narrowed in thought. To any on looker, he would have seemed a crazy old man, who was not only clothed in the strangest white garb, but was also staring into a street puddle as though it were the most fascinating thing on the planet. Indeed, several passerby gave him odd, sharp looks, parents ushering away curious children in haste, whilst the more dignified elderly would study him a moment, before sneering and discussing him in poor taste with their companion.

Seraph ignored all of this as he continued to watch the image in the murky water. He had not expected Voldemort to attack as boldly as he had – destroying the ministry and St. Mungos in one day, not within twenty minutes of one another. Of course, it couldn’t have been more cleverly planned – help would be arriving at the rubble, which had been the Ministry of Magic, leaving the famous wizarding hospital completely open to attack. Death Eaters would have no fear of being caught, not only because of the timing of the attacks, but also because they had murdered nearly half of the Ministry staff in their prior assault.

He waved one non-wrinkled hand over the puddle, changing the scene from that of the Ministry to that of St. Mungos, or, more specifically, the Spell Damage Ward. Something what looked like a large, human-like dog was crushed under a large bolder, whilst the bed next to the poor creature was completely untouched. In the corner, a small witch sat against the wall, head bowed, unmoving, and was being lightly shaken by Gilderoy Lockhart, who had a large gash across his forehead. The picture continued to move, heading in the location of what Seraph knew was the place of the beds of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

What he saw surprised him.

Crouched in the center of the floor, devoid of any scrapes and bruises, sat the three remaining Longbottoms, surrounded by a large yellow bubble-like shield. The youngest (Neville, he believed the boy’s name was), had his arms wrapped around his parents, whose heads were buried into his shoulders, and though they were shaking, let no noise of their fear escape their mouths. Though Neville clutched them protectively, his attention did not seem to be on them, but on something that was not in the room, as his eyes, instead of being on his parents, or closed tightly in his own fear, were staring into space, and seemed to posses a yellow tint…

He waved his hand yet again, changing the scene from the destructed hospital room to the dimly lit, Victorian-styled den of Snape Manor. His eyes narrowed at the sight that greeted him. Remus was sitting, hunched over, on a rather antique-looking coffee table, his lips pressed lightly to the forehead of Harry Potter. It wasn't the kiss that disturbed him, but the fact that neither Remus nor Harry were moving. At all. Only the slight movement of the werewolf's shoulders to signify breathing soothed Seraph's worries, if only slightly.

'Mentallmency,' he realized with a start. ' Pulling one into your mind. Only he had that power-'

A foot landed in the puddle with a splash.

“Thought I might find you here,” said a cheerful voice. “You always were one to watch and not help.”

Seraph’s eyes slowly rose from the now non-existent picture, to glare fiercely at a golden-cloaked figure, who was drawing far more attention then he had been doing a moment ago.

“And I was watching that,” snarled the man, motioning towards the puddle with frustration, causing the other to smirk.

“Quite right, you were. But you know the rules of exposing ourselves to others, my dear friend. Why must you insist on pushing them? And in Paris, of all places.”

“For the same reason the dead continue to talk – because I bloody well can.” This caused the golden one’s smirk to grow into a smile, and he nodded with enthusiasm.

“Precisely!”

“You’re drunk again, aren’t you?”

“Afraid not. Not keen on getting suspended again already. Not to mention my wife would have my head. You know, what I can’t figure out is why you’re so far off from London-”

“Not that I’m not excited of your visit, Vicar, but, assuming this isn’t a social call, as it hardly ever is, just why exactly is it you’re here?” At the words of the interruption Vicar sobered, straightening to his full height of 6’3, amusement gone from his persona.

“You’ve gone and pissed them off again. They don’t like the fact that you’re interfering with his destiny-.”

“Pushing it along,” Seraph interrupted with a snort, pulling his pipe from his pocket and putting it in his mouth as though the topic were of no importance.

“Harry Potter’s well-being was left to Albus Dumbledore, Seraph, and despite how much none of us like it we have no say in the matter.” Seraph’s blue eyes narrowed as they looked at his companion, before they scanned the scene that they were making. Sighing, he lowered his pipe.

“We should go and talk about this elsewhere.” Vicar nodded, his sober mood not changing.

“Indeed we will…at Court. They want to speak with you.” Seraph rolled his eyes, gave his pipe a swish to null its flame, and stuffed it back into his pocket with a slight smirk.

"I'm not going to Court, Vicar, and I know that you knew I wouldn't before you came here to get me." The golden-robed man cocked his head.

"And just where is it you think you're going instead, Seraph?" Blue eyes twinkled.

"Where am I going? Do you truly want to know?" He laughed a little at the other's expression. "Vicar, I suggest you return to your wife before she berates you for getting caught up in my schemes again and puts you on the couch for the next month.”

"Where are you going?" Repeated the man in exasperation, though he did not move forward to stop him. Seraph glanced at him as he pulled his cloak tighter.

"To change destines. Honestly, where have you been?" And with those words, his disappeared with a small burst of light, causing a passing elderly couple to gasp. With a frustrated groan, Vicar, too, wrapped his cloak tighter around him, waving his hand to erase the memories of the events of the people who were close enough to see it, and also disappeared.

.T.

Neville simply stared ahead, ignoring the bustle around him, ignoring the cup of tea the kindly old lady offered, ignoring the probing questions of the few Ministry officials that were present. His brown eyes remained focused on his parents, who sat across from him. His mother had her head buried in the shoulder of his father, sobbing hysterically and jerking away from the gentle touches of Mediwitches who had not been on duty when St. Mungos had blown up, who tried to urge her to loosen her grip so that they could move them to a more stable area. His father, Frank, would occasionally send scathing glares their way whenever they became to forward, and as it was something an insane patient did not usually do, it unnerved them enough to back away. The healers would send little glances to Neville, as though asking for help, but he was ignoring them, too.

He had no idea how he survived the blast; how he had managed to keep his parents safe from it. All he could remember was shielding them, and praying in his mind over and over again that they wouldn’t die, that he wouldn’t lose them for real this time, that they would stay with him, that he loved them. All of a sudden, they had been surrounded by a beaming yellow light that seemed more bright and more intense than the sun, and the debris from the room and to pieces of the roof that fell just bounced off it, not one of them getting through. And that was how the rescue witches and wizards that had entered the destructed building looking for survivors found them, half an hour later. And that was the reason for the endless, and very annoying, questions from the Ministry officials.

“Come on now, Alice,” said one of the Mediwitches in an overly soothing voice to his mother. He watched as the skinny, cold looking witch laid a hand on his mother’s shoulder, and scowled when the woman ignored her obvious flinch. “Don’t you want to go some place quiet, with a nice warm bed to lie down in, where you can forget all of the nasty bad things that happened today?” She sighed when she received no response, and turned towards one of the other healers. “Help me with her, Joyce, I don’t think I can get her to move-.”

“Then leave her alone,” snarled Neville suddenly, startling the two Mediwitches, as well as the rest of those nearby, as they were the first words he had spoken since they had found him and his parents. “In fact, leave them both alone. There’s no point in moving them to one of your makeshift hospitals. The second my grandmother and uncle get here, we’ll be going home, and they’ll be coming with us.”

“Now see here, young man,” piped up the second Mediwitch, Joyce, whose expression reminded Neville sorely of Professor Umbridge. “You have no authority to tell us what we will and will not do with our patients-.” Neville cut her off, brown eyes blazing.

“They were my parents before they were your bloody patients. I said they are going home.” His tone was scathing. “If you have any more to say about it you can wait until my grandmother arrives and pick it up with her. Until then, shut up.” He looked from the ugly healer to his parents, surprised when his eyes locked with those of his father, who was looking at him with an emotion that Neville had never seen on his face before. However, before he could decipher what it was, another voice interrupted, this time coming from one of the Ministry officials.

“Mr. Longbottom?” He called solemnly, moving towards Neville after the Gryffindor raised his head in acknowledgement.

“Yes?” Replied the Hogwarts student in the same cool tone. The official gave him a pitying look as he spoke.

“We found your uncle and grandmother…”

.T.

He sighed as he turned onto Puckle Avenue, scowling as his drenched cloak swooshed in the semi-flooded road. Though he did not like the rain, he could not help but find it appropriate and helpful; the former for due to the days events, and the latter for washing off the evidence of the days events. He knew she would seriously…freak out (he believed that was the term) if she saw him in that state he had been in.

Viktor Krum stopped in front of the gates of the small but majestic Granger Manor. He had done the same when Hermione had first brought him here, awed by the fact that Muggles could create something so beautiful that wasn’t a castle that had taken years to build.

He smiled slightly when he saw her face staring out the window, and it grew as she smiled in return. It was a foreign emotion on his face, and it felt uncomfortable...but it wouldn't stay there long.

It was all part of the plan.

When she pulled away from the glass, and the curtains had fallen back into place, he lightly and discreetly tapped his wand against the iron poles, smile turning into one of satisfaction. No matter what they invented, Muggles would never be able to place even the most novice of anti-magic charms on their devices.

He entered the house, taking a brief moment to glance around and reintroduce himself to the interior. It was cozy, (unlike his own manor, which was entirely stone with thick rugs scattered about) and warm, with several landscape drawings on various parts of the walls. It was clean and bright, which had a tendency to hurt one’s eyes when they had been out in the dark for some time.

It was disgusting.

He heard Hermione’s footsteps rushing down the carpeted stairs, and opened his eyes to see her standing on the last step, eyeing him with a mixture of excitement and concern, and offered her another sickening smile.

“Hello, Hermione,” he greeted, feeling a small rush of pride at the perfect english. It had been drilled into him endlessly by both his instructors and Hermione herself, and it made him feel rather good to be able to do it so flawlessly.

The frizzy-haired brunette beamed at him, perhaps thinking along the same lines, and shoved something under his nose. Stepping back so that he could see what the object was that had made the sixteen-year-old so happy, he pulled the Quibbler into his own large and calloused hand.

‘HARRY POTTER MISSING: HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED SUSPECTED!’

Ahhhh, that article. Now wonder she was so joyous. He hadn’t known that the Quibbler had an issue of it as well. He’d be sure to send one off tonight, after Hermione was asleep.

“It makes me mad, though.” Hermione’s voice drew him to the present, and he pushed all of the thoughts aside to study her. They would have to wait until later. The plan was frail; one wrong move could destroy it.

“Why?” He asked, puzzled. “It’s what you’ve wanted since the end of your fourth year, Hermione.” She snorted.

“I know that, and I am happy that Harry is gone…it’s just…” She threw her hands up in the air in frustration, and plopped down into one of the leather chairs of the living room. Curious, Viktor sat down across from her.

“What?” He pressed, and she sighed.

“I don’t understand why the community is so upset,” she said at last. “They keep going on about how Harry Potter is their savior and how Harry Potter is their only hope. What about me?” She stood up again, making animated motions with her hands as she continued. “I’m the brightest witch of my age; I’m at the top of every class; I got Outstandings on every single one of my OWLS! I should be the on they look to to save them, not some self-centered-doesn’t-know-a-thing-about-magic-hero-complex orphan.” Viktor also rose, and made his way towards the annoyed teen, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting hug.

All part of the plan.

“They just don’t know yet,” he assured softly. “Once they witness your power, you will be the one they call savior, love. I promise.”

“Hmm,” was all Hermione said as she melted into his embrace, snuggling her head into his shoulder. They stood like that for a few minutes, as Viktor knew how much Hermione liked tender moments, before she gasped and pulled back.

“Oh Merlin!” She cried. Viktor gave her a surprised look. “I forgot to ask how your job interview at the Ministry went,” she said sheepishly, and the Seeker blinked. Interview?…Ah, yes! “You must think I’m terribly selfish.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” he replied charmingly, though thinking the exact opposite. “Merely dramatic.” He laughed slightly as she punched him playfully on the arm, and then turned serious. Time to fabricate. “I went there for my scheduled appointment, and waited for nearly an hour afterwards as your Minister finished up his other one, which cut into my time. When they finally came out, Fudge simply looked at me and said “I’ve already got someone for the job” and pointed towards the slag that came out with him.” Viktor shook his head in sadness. “I spent the last three hours at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“It’s alright,” headed with a shrug at her appalled expression, shivering suddenly as he felt the chill the air condition provided to his soaked body. He gave the brunette Hogwarts student a sly smile. “On a more lighter note, I really need to get out of these clothes…mind if I use your room? I think I left some dry-.” He didn’t even get to finish the words as Hermione threw herself around his shoulders once more, pressing her body against his. Viktor’s smile grew, and he caught her lips in a heated kiss.

It may be all part of the plan, but it certainly had it moments.

.T.

He was in a shed. And not just any shed. It was the Dursley's shed, the one he had rescued Harry from not two days prior. Except...it was light now, and empty, void of the blood stains and their stench, void of the scent of human waste...void of Harry.

"I'm dreaming..." Said Remus to himself. "A nightmare where I have to spend the next eight hours in this...place."

"You shouldn't be here." The werewolf whirled around at the voice, golden eyes widening as they took in the form of its owner. It was Harry, dressed in only a pair of overly-large jeans that were held up by a piece of rope, his pale torso lacking the scars that had covered it not a moment ago.

"Harry?" He whispered. The Gryffindor cocked his head at him, before walking past him, making his way to the center of the shed, where he promptly sat, emerald eyes glazing up at him innocently. 

"You shouldn't be here, Professor," he repeated firmly. Heedless, Remus stepped forward. This was obviously his mind's creation, something to help him deal with guilt...it wasn't real...

"Oh, come on, Professor!" Said Harry with a small, humorless smile. "You know better than I that anything can happen in the Wizarding World...but you still shouldn't be here."

"Why?" Remus countered. Whether or not this was a dream, he was getting an opportunity to talk with his godson, with whom he knew he would never be able to converse with again after this moment.

"Because," replied Harry, seeming to have not read his thoughts that time. "It's not perfect...I'm not perfect."

Suddenly, the scene went dark, and Remus lost all sight of the Gryffindor. Sounds of what sounded like small shrieks filled the shed, and grunts of pain filled his ears.

"Harry?" He exclaimed, stumbling forward.

'The One with the Power to Vanquish the Dark Lord Approaches...'

'Bloody hell,' thought Remus. 'The Prophecy?'

'Born to Those Who Have Thrice Deified Him, Born as the Seventh Month Dies.'

"I killed them, Professor." Came Harry's voice, echoing across the blank space. Remus froze, frowning in concentration, pushing away the ageless voice that spoke the prophecy in focus of his godson.

"Killed who?" The prophecy voice interrupted.

'And the Dark Lord will Mark Him as an Equal, but He will have Power the Dark Lord Knows Not.'

Harry gave a bitter laugh as it ended. "Mum, Dad, Cedric...Sirius. I even took Peter - ahh." He drew off with a moan of pain.

"Harry?" Remus called again, panicked by the noise. There was a sound of raspy breathing, and then a raspy reply.

"I took them from you, Professor. I took all of them! Dad, Sirius, Peter - just by being born! I stole Cedric away from his parents - I stole their only child! I took my mother's life to stay alive, when it should have been me who died! And then...those people in my vision..."

The shrieks and grunts stopped instantly, filling Remus' ears with a deafening silence. He looked around warily, trying to feel his way through the darkness.

"Harry?" He called out for the last time.

'And Either must Die at the Hand of the Other, for Neither can Live while the Other Survives.'

"Over here." 

Remus whirled around, only to stop dead at the sight that greeted him. The light had returned slightly, like moonlight through a window, and it shown right on to the speaker. Harry was sitting on the floor, no longer flawless, covered in the same welts and bruises that had adorned his form when Remus had found him. They were bleeding uncontrollably, but the teen did not seem concerned by it.

"I deserve it," he said, reading his thoughts once more. Remus' attention snapped back. 

"What?" He asked hoarsely. 

"I deserve what he does to me; I won't stop it. I'm a murderer, a freak. I live only to kill Voldemort, solely to rid the Wizarding World of the monster I brought back." He looked around the room, face taking up a fond expression. "This is my life...my hell." Before Remus could say anything else, the scene changed again, and this time it was storming, raining, much like it had been when he had come...

'And Either must Die at the Hand of the Other, for Neither can live while the Other Survives.'

'Merlin,' he thought suddenly. 'This really is his mind.' He turned when he realized that Harry was again no longer in front of him, and stopped short.

A knife.

Harry had a knife.

Sirius had bought that knife for him...he had said it would be put to good use.

It was slowly making its way across Harry's right forearm, leaving behind a trail of crimson that matched the others that had appeared on his arms.

"I deserve it...I killed them...I can't die yet, so I'll make just a little cut..."

'And Either must Die at the Hand of the Other, for Neither can live while the Other Survives.'

Remus couldn't take it anymore. Without a second thought as to what could go wrong if one were to mess with someone in their own mind, the werewolf strode forward, too quickly for Harry to catch on and change the scene again, and wrapped his arms around the child's lithe frame. Harry stiffened beneath him, but Remus paid no mind, and simple tightened his grip, knowing that no pain would emit from the welts on the Gryffindor's body.

"You did nothing wrong," he said fiercely. "You did not kill Lily and James, Voldemort did. You did not kill Cedric, Peter did. And you did not kill Sirius, Bellatrix did. You were put into situations you should never have been put into, and as a result, you were forced to witness things no one your age should see."

"But..." Said Harry after a moment. "But...I caused it. I was the reason Voldemort went after them, I was the reason he killed the people in the vision."

"Harry!" Snapped the werewolf gently, causing the teen to jump. "Listen to what you're saying. Voldemort this, Voldemort that. You did not cause Voldemort to be the way he is, Harry. If anyone should be blamed for that, it's Dumbledore. You did nothing wrong." Harry was not convinced.

"He said that you would hate me." Remus pulled back slightly so as to get a better look at Harry's face.

"Who did?"

"He did. He said that I took away all you ever cared about, and that you would hate me for it."

"Well," said Remus. "I don't know who this 'he' is, but I can promise you he couldn't be more wrong. Harry, you're parents knew that Voldemort was after them, yet they chose to hide and prepare to fight rather than take the easy way out. Peter...well, Peter's a stupid coward who only passed half of his classes because he copied my work. And Sirius," here, Remus took in a deep breath. "Sirius would have jumped at the chance to fight, whether it had been a rouge troublemaker with a mean right-hook or Voldemort himself. It wouldn't have mattered. Knowing that you were in danger simply added to his fire."

Harry said nothing, simply continuing to sit where he was, not returning the embrace that he was still locked in. Remus frowned.

"I know like you feel you have nothing to live for, Harry. Like everyone that truly cares about you is dead...but that's not true. I'm still here, Harry. I've known you since the day you were born, your father's pride. And you know what?" He paused before continuing. "I loved you the second I set eyes on you. You were...like the son I would never have."

Harry froze.

"And I still do love you, Harry. Sirius was going to adopt you, and we were going to live together, just the three of us." Remus moved back, to see the hand that had been holding the knife was beginning to shake violently. Gently, he clutched it.

"Let go of the knife, Harry," he said softly.

It clattered to the floor, and they were both surrounded by a strong bright light.

.T.

“Will they be sleeping in there?” Severus looked up from his text to view the anxious face of his friend. The blonde aristocrat had seemed unusually worried since Potter and Lupin’s arrival, not moving more than a foot away from the living room door at a time. Percy had pointed this out before he left to seek council with Seraph, going out of his way to order Severus to find some way to distract the man before he had an anxiety attack. Severus had, of course, ignored the red head, knowing that such an emotion could trigger some of Lucius’ memories to return, possibly bringing about some of the Slytherin that he had grown so fond of.

"No," he said after a moment. "I've fixed up a guest room for them, the one in the south wing. They'll be staying there for as long as they need."

"Oh," replied Lucius, icy eyes returning back to the door. "How...how is he?"

"He's..." Severus hesitated. "He's as well as can be expected," he allowed after a pause. "I doubt he'll ever fully recover...why do you ask?" Lucius had seemed to pale at when told of Potter's condition, though he had turned his face completely away at the other man's question. Severus waited patiently, knowing how the blonde worked, not turning his mind back to his book, instead continuing to stare at the Slytherin.

"Do I have a child, Severus?"

The potions professor did a double take. "What?" Lucius turned around, eyes lowered, but stance firm.

"Do I have a child? A son?"

Severus had never mentioned Draco to Lucius, knowing it would pain the man if he were to know of the son that he could not see. He had said nothing that would have set of a memory flash of such a thing...Potter. Lucius must have gotten it from seeing Potter.

"Yes," he finally admitted. "A sixteen-year-old son." Lucius looked stunned for a moment, as though he had expected Severus' to deny it. He took in a deep breath, eyebrow furrowed.

"What's his name?"

"Draco, after your-."

"After my father," Lucius cut in, eyes widening. "His favorite food is mincemeat pie, though I never knew where he got to taste it from, and his birthday is February 23. He was sorted into Slytherin, like I told him to, and he became enemies with...Harry Potter...just like I told him to. And he became Seeker for his Quidditch Team, even though he wanted to play Chaser...just because I told him to...My God." He turned his eyes onto Severus, a look of horror on his face. "Merlin. Severus...what have I done to my son?"

The dark-haired man was on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between them in record time, grasping the aristocrat's face in his palms. This was exactly why he hadn't told him.

"Look at me, Lucius, look at me!" Blue eyes locked with obsidian. "You did what you had to do as a spy. Draco understands everything, and believe me when I say he loves you no less for it. You had no choice in the matter." Lucius simply continued to look at him. Cursing Dumbledore, Voldemort, and any other person unfortunate enough to cross his mind, to hell, Severus gathered his friend into his arms, soothing the non-existent tears.

It was one hell of a day, and it still wasn't over.

.T.

He sat on a plush chair, a scowl marring his model-like face, making it appear somewhat grotesque. Sharp, short words left his mouth as answers or comments to everything said and done as his obsidian eyes stared at the unconscious form of his friend.

Blaise Zabini cursed every god and goddess he could think of as the blood that leaked from the wound on his head was dabbed up by the house-elves he had had waiting for the arrival of Draco's father (needless to say that they were surprised when instead of their main master to heal, they had gotten his heir and Master Blaise). The raven-haired Slytherin was not exactly sure what had happened at the Ministry, only that it had been some kind of explosion. Whether or not it had been only on their floor or all of them, he didn’t know, and at the moment, he didn’t quite care. All he wanted right now was for Draco to wake up, and brag and gloat about how his self-made portkey had worked. However, the incident at the Ministry of Magic would not leave him alone.

It was rather obvious that the Dark Lord was behind the explosion, as the Spell Experimentation Department had been moved into another building after Mrs. Lovegood had died. Though, if that were truly the case, it was painfully possible that the blast had most likely occurred within the entire Ministry, and not just the floor he and Draco had been on. However, it was less than likely that it could have been anyone else, as every other Ministry of Magic was looking towards Harry Potter for their protection.

A moan from Draco drew Blaise from his thoughts, and he instantly shot up from the chair and to the bed, pushing aside house-elves to get a better view of his friend. The blond was bad off, despite Blaise having blocked him from most of the falling debris. The wizard statue from the Fountain of Brethren had seen fit to fall on top of the slight Seeker – or as close as he could get with Blaise covering half of the boy’s body – effectively crushing three of the teen’s right ribs, thus puncturing his lung. It had been a horrifying thing to wake up to; it would be weeks before Blaise would be able to rid his mind of the nightmarish image.

It was wrong. Draco always gave off the air of being the strong one; the one who only got into trouble if he put himself in it. And yet, here he was, being cared for by house-elves for fear his mother would discover his actions of the day and report him to the Dark Lord. His pale, angelic face was marred by a pained frown, and sweat poured down from his wrinkle-free forehead.

‘Why aren’t the potions working?’ Blaise reached out a hand to stroke through the Slytherin Prince’s light locks, obsidian eyes glancing back at the house-elves.

“What potions did you give him?” He demanded harshly, sighing in aggravation as it sent several into petrified horror. “Well?”

“Only the ones Masters Blaise asked us for, sirs,” offered one brave creature, not stepping forward for fear of punishment. The Slytherin’s eyes widened.

“All of them?” One of the elves, no doubt the previous speaker, began to shake uncontrollably.

“Y-Yes, sirs.” Blaise rounded on them.

“You can’t mix pain killing potions with the Skele-Grow!” He snarled. “It can be fatal! Are you trying to kill your Master?” The elves gave no answer, and the raven-haired teen, knowing it was pointless to push the subject, returned to his position with Draco, pulling another blanket over the now shivering form.

“Go and fetch me some Floo Powder, now! I need to-.” Blaise did not get to finish his sentence, for at that moment, Draco gave a violent jolt, and the hidden room was engulfed in a fierce green light.

.T.

It was one in the morning when Severus had finally managed to get Lucius to sleep, and the normally expressionless Head of Slytherin now walked down his spiral staircase with the look of a man who was beyond exhaustion.

'I hate the Dark Lord,' he chanted bitterly in his mind. 'I hate Albus, I hate Narcissa...Hell, I bloody hate everyone...almost everyone...I need a drink.' 

The raven-haired Potions Master sighed as he reached the last step, but instead of turning towards his study, where he kept his vast amount of various alcoholic drinks, he went in the direction of the living room. Severus had checked the guest room before he had come downstairs, and, despite himself, had been somewhat concerned when he had noticed it empty. Lupin was already in a fragile mental and emotional state after the death of Black; losing his godson to his mind may have been just what the Healer ordered for the werewolf to be pushed over the edge, and for some reason, the idea was nota welcome to Severus.

He reached the door he had magically conjured to allow the monster and his brat some privacy, but hesitated when his slim fingers wrapped around the brass knob. He pressed his ear against the finished oak, frowning at the lack of sobbing or laughter that came from an emotional breakdown; all that could be heard was the steady breathing of who he assumed was Potter. Perhaps, Lupin had...no, it wasn't possible, not even for someone who had been through as much as he had within the last month. It simply wasn't possible.

Was it?

Mind made up, he turned the knob to the left, slowly pushing the door open into the darkness of his living room. Light from the nearly-full moon beat down upon the area through the open window, allowing Severus to scan the room with ease. His obsidian orbs instantly shot to the couch which Potter still laid on, and a frown caused them to squint when he noticed that Lupin was slouched forward from his sitting position on the coffee table. The man must have fallen asleep.

Severus walked towards the two Gryffindors, eyes rolling skyward at the irony of the whole situation. He couldn't very well leave them where they were...Lucius and Percy would no doubt be displeased if they saw it, not to mention that he himself would not be able to get a wink of sleep if he knew that he had left two very vulnerable people defenseless in his living room. With sigh, he reached down a hand onto Lupin's shoulder.

"Lupin," he whispered, shaking him gently so as not to startle him. "Lupin, get up-."

"Let him alone."

The voice was soft, and somewhat raspy, but nonetheless, it caused Severus to freeze in mid-movement. It was impossible...

He whirled around, not missing the but not truly comprehending the flinch that graced the pale face of the fifteen-year-old boy he had written off as insane not six hours ago. Cool emerald eyes met his black ones, the flicker of fear that they had held not a moment ago disappearing within an instant.

"Po-Potter?" Stuttered the Potions Master. Harry Potter did not smirk at his for-once surprised professor, nor did he do anything that showed he had even heard the choppy use of his last name. He simply continued to stare at the elder wizard, blinking every now and then, as though waiting for something more intelligent and thought out to be said. After a few moments, it still hadn't come, the Seeker spoke again.

"He's tired," said Potter in the same soft tone. "Just let him sleep here tonight." Severus just shook his head.

"I-I don't understand-."

"You will," said Potter assuredly. "You'll understand everything...right after I do. However." The boy took a minute to clear his throat as his voice became even more raspy. "I think you should go to bed as well, Professor. You look horrible."

Severus was speechless. He simply stared at his student, much in the same way the teen was staring at him, and tried to make sense of everything that had just happened as Potter leaned his head back against the arm of the chair and closed his eyes.

"R-Right," he finally managed to get out. He stood there for a split second more, torn, before finally walking out the door, closing it softly before heading towards his study.

Firewhiskey sounded rather good at the moment. Very good, in fact.

.T.

The second the door closed, Harry's eye shot open, and he slowly sat up. So Professor Lupin had taken them to Snape's. Odd, but very clever. It would certainly not be on the top of anyone's list of places to search, if it was on there at all. As long as the man didn't touch him...or scold him...Harry wouldn't have a problem with it.

His emerald eyes fell onto said Professor, and they studied the slumbering man critically.

'So you love me,' he thought, feeling a surge of confusion. 'After all that I have put you through, you love me. You are most certainly a strange one, Master Lupin. Smart, definitely, but very strange.'

He had noticed, the second he had woken up, that the pain he had grown accustomed to over the past month was non-existent. He used to be able to feel every welt and every bruise, but now, all he could feel was the comfortable fabric of the couch upon which he lay.

'No doubt you're responsible for it,' echoed the words in his mind as he continued to gaze at the sleeping elder man.

Harry would not be able to go back to sleep that night, and he knew it. Every time his eyes closed, he saw their faces - faces of people he knew - floating about him, and the horrific scene that he had seen in his vision would begin to replay over and over again, whilst all the while the faces would accuse him of being responsible for their deaths. Despite what Professor Lupin had told him, Harry knew that he was at fault for it. He should have done something to prevent all of those people from dying. Poor Neville...

He was brought back to the present as Professor Lupin groaned slightly in his sleep. Slowly, he pushed himself up from his makeshift bed, automatically stretching as he moved off a little to the side. He studied the scene for a moment, before lifting his hand and giving it the flick that was identical to that used when casting the levitation spell. Instantly Professor Lupin was up in the air, rest completely undisturbed as he hovered above the coffee table. With another flick of his hand, Harry gently lowered Lupin to the couch, and the manually covered him with the quilt that had been on him not five minutes ago.

"Thank you," he said, offering the werewolf a somewhat forlorn smile. He stood over him for a minute, before moving towards the window. The moon shown brightly from its place in the shy, completely oblivious to the problems of the people below it, and the stars twinkled with the countless wishes that had been bestowed upon them be hopeful and naive children before they had gone to bed. It was a peaceful scene that Harry had not taken the time to notice for quite a while, and he leaned his forehead onto the glass to get closer to it. Unknowingly, his eyelids began to fall until they were all the way closed, and he made his way into the land of slumber.

‘Oh, Merlin! Nancy, Nancy!’

‘Let him go, you devils!’

‘Mama?’

‘Torqueo Ossir!’

‘Why didn’t you save me, Harry?’

‘It’s all your fault, Harry.’

‘You killed us, Harry!’

His eyes shot open instantly, and he jerked his head off the window.

“Shit…” He muttered, breathing ragged and emerald orbs wide. His scar burned fiercely, and he reached his hand up to rub it.

‘Do you honestly believe that you deserve such peace whilst the people around you suffer because you didn’t help them?’ Asked a coy voice inside of his head. Harry frowned at its words. Had he been more aware, he would have pinpointed the similarity between the voice and another that he was all too familiar with, but as he was not, Harry simply shook his head.

‘No.’

‘That’s right. You don’t deserve any of the good things that you have, Harry. You’ve killed. And you’re killing the last person who cares. Look at him, Harry.’

Harry looked at the still form of his old Defense professor, watching as the man took in steady breaths, and felt something within him become heavy.

‘It’s said that you always hurt the ones you love…granted, I don’t think that means killing them.’

Harry gulped and looked away.

‘You don’t deserve him, Harry. You don’t deserve his love. You deserve pain.’

‘I…deserve pain,’ repeated Harry, glancing down at his arms, whose scars seemed to stare at him, pleading him for another companion.

‘Yes. You do.’

And he longed to hold Drakontas in his hand once again, to feel her slide across his arm, to bring him the relief that she always could. As he peered at the moon, and single tear made a lonely journey down his face.

‘Good.’

.T.

Exactly one hundred and fifty miles away, Lord Voldemort smiled a malevolent smile as he retired to his bedchamber, Nagini slithering silently behind him, and occasional hiss being the only noise that accompanied them.

.T.

“We lost a lot of good witches and wizards today,” said Alastor softly. The retired Auror was currently sitting in the Headmaster’s office, stroking the Phoenix that was perched on his knee, both normal and magical eye fixated on the old wizard across from him. He had known Albus Dumbledore for quite some time; fifty years, to be exact. Throughout that time, he had stood beside his friend, through some of the most controversial times in the Wizarding World that had ever happened. But this – this certainly topped the cake.

Albus sighed from his position, wrinkled forehead resting within equally wrinkled hands, not saying a word, letting Alastor continue with his little speech.

“Arthur, the Longbottoms, Amos Diggory…not to mention how many that will be out due to their injuries.”

“We weren’t prepared for such a large scale attack,” agreed the Headmaster, finally saying something. “We had grown accustomed to Voldemort being quiet…we underestimated him.” He finally lifted his head from his hands; however, the look that he gave Alastor was a horrified one. “We aren’t ready for a war…not as we are now.” Alastor nodded in understanding.

“Your plan.”

“Yes.”

“Well, we don’t have Potter.” Alastor’s voice was troubled as he said this, but the tone was gone when he continued. “Longbottom, however. You could use that tragedy to your advantage.” Albus’ eyes lit up as he caught on to what his friend was saying.

“He has no capable guardians now.”

“It would be an opportune moment, Albus. And you would have all summer to train him.” The ancient wizard arched an eyebrow at the wooden-legged man.

“Would you be up to the task?”

Alastor smirked. “We’ve had this discussion before. My answer has not changed.” Albus beamed.

“Excellent. I’ll go for him first thing in the morning.”

“Understood. Perhaps, Albus, you should take the time until them to rest. You look awful.”

Phineas withdrew from his eavesdropping, frown marring his face as he rose from his chair. He knew that Violet would be highly disappointed, but he was certain she would understand what a pressing matter this was. Watching as Alastor Moody bid farewell to Dumbledore before disappearing with the gargoyle, Phineas left his portrait, with Albus none the wiser as the Headmaster made his way to bed.

.T.

His eyes cracked open, and a low moan escaped his mouth, as the action seemed to increase the pounding of his headache. He had no clue where he was – the last he had known he and Blaise had been leaving the Ministry, and then his friend was throwing himself on top of him, and then – nothing. Perhaps he had gotten his head knocked when Blaise had pushed him to the ground. That would certainly explain the headache, and would be more than an excellent excuse to pummel the older Slytherin into the ground.

Slowly, and rather painfully, Draco pushed himself into a sitting position, eyes widening to their full extension as he took in the sight around him. Skeletons of what had obviously been house-elves adorned the dust-covered floor - some were not skeletons, but gray, empty husks with empty eye sockets that were pointed in his general direction. The room itself was a disaster - there was not one piece of furniture that wasn't broken; even the mirror was cracked. In fact, the bed upon which he laid appeared to be missing its two front legs, and at the dip, was a black-cloaked figure whom, had it not been for the slight rising of their shoulders, would have passed for dead.

"Blaise!" Draco threw himself forward, ignoring the large amount of pain that accompanied the movement, and clutched the back of the robe, jerking the figure towards him. A face nearly as pale as his own greeted him; Blaise's eyes were closed, and his skin was colder than normal to the touch.

'What the hell is going on?' Thought the Malfoy heir. "Blaise, Blaise!" He shook the other boy's shoulders roughly. "Blaise, wake up!"

It was only when Blaise groaned that Draco ceased his shaking, and only when obsidian orbs peaked from beneath eyelids that he allowed his grip relax.

"Thank Merlin," he breathed in relief, scanning the skeletons and husks, feeling a shiver run down his spine at the thought that the other Slytherin had been exposed to what had happened to the unfortunate creatures. "What happened?" He turned his blond head back to Blaise, and was surprised to see caution and a tinge of fear behind the eyes of the boy he had been friends with for six years.

"Blaise?" He said gently, pressing. "Blaise, what happened?" Black met silver, and Blaise spoke.

"You."

.T.

When later asked, people would claim that the day the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Injuries and Maladies fell was a fast one, and for some, that was all they would remember. Others, however, would recall it as the day the government made the worst possible decision they could have.

Dolores Jane Umbridge briskly made her way through the small, temporarily conjured Ministries building, absently patting her extremely large hat and primping her brittle curls. The past month had not been a kind one to the assistant of the former Minister; being a disgraced ex Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and then being reported for improper detention tactics from various students had caused most of those in the Wizarding World to send the stout woman scowls wherever she went. She had gone under several reviews from the Wizarding Law Branch, and, had it not been for Amelia Bones’ death the day prior, would no doubt have been suspended from her position.

But that was all in the past as of now. The community was now in chaos. With the disappearance of their savior, Harry Potter, followed the very next day by the surprising and brutal attacks by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the witches and wizards of Britain were in need of some guidance, some sense of security, and she was going to give that to them.

She walked into the meeting hall, flashing a sugary sweet smile to all those gathered around. There was the Minister of Magic from Bulgaria, as well as from France, and Germany, and others that she could not connect with nations. All looked grim, no doubt from the events of the previous day, and did not react to her smile in the least. She gave a slight, nervous chuckle.

“Madame Umbridge, please, take a seat.”

Her beady brown eyes flew to her left, and a small smile formed on her face at the familiar sight of Andrew Thorington, who, as well as herself, was about to find himself in a higher position. He had a chair pulled out for her, right at the front of the table, and she could barely contain the glee in her voice as she moved towards him.

“Why, thank you, Thorington. Gentlemen, shall we get started?” She inquired to the Ministers as she took the seat. With a few mutters, the rest followed her lead. They sat in silence for a few moments, before an elderly man far down the right row cleared his throat and stood.

“Madame Umbridge,” he began, voice croaky. “I am Antony Goldbum, the Head Inaugurationer for Ministers of Magic in Europe.” He cracked a somewhat toothless smile as her eyes widened. “Yes,” he laughed. “So, I believe that I should be the one asking if we should get started. If you would please switch chairs with me, I think we can get this Inauguration over with in time for the planning of the candlelight vigil for the victims of the bombings.”

Wordlessly, Dolores rose from the chair.

.T.

He rose at the break of dawn, just as he always did, and stretched his arms above his head, careful not wake the sleeping girl beside him. He smiled maliciously as he studied Hermione's nude form, wondering how Harry Potter would react to his friend's attitude towards him for the upcoming year.

A sharp rap at the window interrupted his musings, and Viktor shielded his eyes against the harsh sunlight to view the culprit.

The Dark Lord's raven.

Quickly but quietly, the Drumstrang graduate stood up from the bed, mindless of his unclothed body, and opened the latch, allowing the black bird to fly in and land on Hermione's desk. It held out its left foot expectantly, in which it clutched a rolled parchment between his claws. Impatiently, he snatched it away, silencing the raven's cry of indignation with a deadly glare, and unrolled the parchment.

I have another task for you. You are to attend tomorrow night by all necessary means.

Viktor smiled crookedly as he crumpled the paper, incinerating it with his wand and a simple muttered spell. The raven left, satisfied that its job was done.

Another task. Another plan. This was most certainly his morning.

.T.

George smiled wickedly as he stared at his twin’s sleeping form, taking in the delicious, delectable creamy-white, freckled skin with the glee that commonly adorned the face of a child in a candy shop, staring at their favorite sweet. And why not? Merlin knew that George would pick Fred over any candy in any candy store.

The fact that the other was not awake did nothing to deter George’s apparent lust, as he was certain Fred would enjoy such a wake up call. He placed his lips to the other’s forehead, kissing down to his nose, skimming over the lips, careful to keep the pressure to a minimum so as to wake him just yet. Slowly, he peeled away the blanket that covered the beautiful piece of art, taking a moment to simply stare at him, to drink him in, before he delved down and attacked his collarbone, lightly sucking, gently nipping. He could practically feel Fred’s body responding, and was torn between being amused or turned on by the fact that his twin was doing it completely subconsciously. His own arousal was becoming apparent, and he bit back a moan as it accidentally brushed against Fred’s thigh. Slowly, he kissed his way down the other’s chest, ghosting over his nipples, smirking against the skin as he felt him stir. With the tip of his tongue, he licked a trail to his brother's navel, dipping it inside, delighted at the involuntary shudder that resulted, and then withdrew it. He pushed the blanket down further still, revealing his prize. It strained against unseen confinements, as though it were trying to reach him, and George was instantly overcome with lust.

"Beautiful," he whispered. He kissed his way down his twin's happy trail, allowing himself a moment to catch up, allowing his breath to ghost upon the now crying member. He was unable to help himself as a drop of precum made its way down the skin, and dipped his head, licking up the salty, bitter, and sinfully delicious liquid, dragging his tongue from the base to the very top, lost in its unique, heavenly taste. Fred moaned in his sleep.

"George," he whispered. His twin grinned devilishly, and brought his lips to the tip of his brother's member, kissing it softly. This time, Fred arched, and George, unable to hold back, engulfed the top of his cock, sucking lightly, causing the other's eyes to fly open.

"Oh, Merlin," moaned Fred. George raised his eyes to meet orbs identical to his own, and they took on a sly tint as his lips moved down further, continuing to suck. He twisted his tongue about the organ, bobbing his head gently, not yet taking in the whole thing, feeling satisfaction as Fred's head fell back onto the pillow, shivering at the moan he released.

"George," he whimpered, rising again, reaching out a hand to run through his twin's red locks, gripping them softly. "George...Merlin!" The other had given a fierce suck. "George, please."

Smiling at the beg, the younger wizard complied, and took the entire length into his mouth. Fred's head fell back into the air once more, and his hips gave a harsh thrust as one of George's hands tickled his balls, moaning again. He gripped the other's hair tighter, jerking it in an effort to get the wet cavern that enveloped him to move faster.

George felt nothing but happiness as Fred continued to lightly thrust into his mouth; happiness that he, and only he, could make Fred as he was now. And idea forming in his head, George slowly inserted his index finger within his brother, grinning at the sharp intake of breath and hard thrust that followed. He added another finger, and pushed them inside roughly, knowing his brother would not mind, searching, probing for his spot, and found it. With the same impish smile, he pushed on it hard.

The result was instant. Fred released a loud, pleasure-filled yelp, and gave a wild buck, forcing George to hold his hips down so that he would not choke him. He withdrew his mouth, chuckling at the mew of disappointment that followed.

"I'm going to make you scream," he pledged in a whisper. He blew on the still-straining member, smiling as Fred attemtped to lift his hips to find his mouth. He lowered his mouth to the top, touching it briefly with the tip of tongue, before swirling around it, lightly nipping it with his teeth. He messaged his brother's entrance with his fingers to lessen the pain, bringing his other hand up to fondle the hard nipples on his chest, before moving them to his brother's lips. Fred did not need to be told, and instantly took them in, sucking them, licking them, putting George's cock in much the same state as his.

George engulfed him completely one more time, feeling the closeness of his twin's climax, and pushed his fingers back again. It was time to finish. Bringing his other hand down to restrain when necessary, George thrust his fingers hard three times against Fred's prostate, sucking as hard as he could.

"George!" Cried Fred in ecstasy, tossing his head back. His hips bucked rapidly into his brother's mouth, and he reached down his hands to hold George's head in place, the wet heat driving him over the edge. He cried out again as he finally came, continuing to thrust hard as he emptied himself into the mouth that held him. George swallowed it all, licking away the remains, and removed his mouth and sucked his fingers, reveling in the taste. His turn, perhaps?

He brought himself back up, grinning at Fred’s smiling face, and brought his lips to his twin’s in a slow, loving kiss that quickly turned into a heated, passionate one. Their tongues battled endlessly, and George moaned as he felt Fred’s hand run over his back and across his abdomen.

“I think I have a favor to return,” whispered the elder boy huskily. George did not reply, instead pushing himself closer to his brother, knocking him over in the process.

A loud pounding on their door caused the twins to burst apart faster than a balloon that was sat on.

“Fred! George! Get up! Mum needs us downstairs!” Ginny’s voice echoed throughout their large room, and the two shared a nervous look that instantly relaxed when they heard their only sister’s footsteps retreating to the stairwell. George sighed in relief and looked down at himself, expression going crestfallen.

“Damn.”

.T. 

“I don’t understand why they share a room.” Molly Weasley looked fondly upon her youngest child. Her only daughter took after her in a lot of things, and it was certainly something that Molly was quite proud of. The petite girl was currently curled up on the couch, opposite the side of her youngest son, Ron, who appeared to be dozing off from the wait. Merlin only knew what their reactions would be when they heard the news.

“Old habits die hard, dear,” she informed Ginny, turning her expression into a warm one as she heard the twins making their way down the stairs. She turned to greet them, thus missing the roll of her daughter’s eyes at her words.

“What’s up, Mum?” Inquired Fred instantly, shoving George into one of the plush chairs, taking the one across from it for himself. Four sets of eyes, all now very much awake, turned to their mother, and suddenly Molly felt nervous.

“What I’m about to tell you,” she said quietly. “Has not yet been released to the public in whole as of yet. It will be very hard for you to accept at first, but, given the proper amount of time, I’m sure you all will be just fine.” Ron’s eyes narrowed at her tone, and something inside of him began to do a little anxious flip-flop.

“What are you talking about?” He demanded. It appeared that Ginny, too, had begun to get that feeling, for she scooted closer to her brother, keeping his almond-shaped cocoa eyes on their mother.

“There- There was a Death Eater attack yesterday evening.” Molly took in a deep breath, and continued. “A lot of people died.” Fred and George shared a horrified look, and Ginny began to shake, as realization dawned on them. Ron, however, for once not being as thick as he was acting, pressed on.

“So?” He snapped. “People are killed by You-Know-Who everyday, why would this bother -.”

“Your father was one of the fatalities,” Molly interrupted quickly. Ron fell silent, and all four of her children were gawking at her in dismay. ‘There you go, old girl,’ she told herself proudly. ‘They’re handling it so well.’ 

George was the first to speak, tears in his eyes as they rose to meet those of his mother.

“You’re lying,” he whispered harshly. “You’re lying!” He jumped up from the chair and raced for the stairs, leaving his siblings and mother to simply deal with it. Fred rose from his seat, and for a moment, his eyes locked with his mother’s, searching, before they too filled up with tears, and he raced up the stairs after his twin. Molly blinked, rather stunned by their reactions, before turning to her youngest, offering them a bright smile.

Ginny was staring at her, the same expression in her eyes that had been in those of twins. Ron, however, was frowning, not facing her, staring out the window. Neither said anything, leaving Molly open to continue.

"I think...due to the heightened Death Eater activity, that both of you, and your brothers, should return to the Burrow."

"No."

Ginny's head snapped up at her brother's refusal, and Molly's eyes went wide at the rudeness that Ron had rarely ever given her. The sixteen-year-old rounded on her, face harboring an expression of pure hatred and distaste, and when he spoke again, his words were snarled.

"You have done nothing to be a mother to us in the past month!" He shouted. "You dropped us on Fred and George so that you could carry on with your damn Order business! Now, the only parent that has ever truly loved us is dead." Molly blinked at the harsh words, before adopting an understanding, warm look.

"Oh, Ron, Ginny," she said. "I understand this is all very hard for you to take in, and that you're just looking for a release for your feelings. I'll tell you what. I'll go pack your things for you, and you two just stay here, eh?" She didn't wait for a reply, heading towards the direction her twin sons had gone, leaving Ron and Ginny to deal with their emotions.

The youngest Weasley instantly threw herself into Ron's arms, snuggling her face into his shoulder, letting free the tears that had been building up over the course of the past five minutes.

"Merlin, Ron," she choked. "He's...he's..."

"Shhh," Ron soothed, rubbing his hand comfortingly on her back. He held back his own tears as Ginny continued tosob into his shoulder. Visions of his father, just from the night before, flooded his mind. The smiling, loving, somewhat oblivious man who had always been there for them. He was...gone. Dead. Murdered. He clutched his sister tighter.

And he had a vague suspicion of who was to blame.

.T.

Remus Lupin's golden eyes opened, and for a moment, he was confused as to where he was. The ceiling was not that of his room at Grimmauld Place, and the object upon which he lay was not his bed. Then the events of the previous two days flooded into his mind.

Dumbledore. The Prophecy. Harry in the shed. Kidnapping. Percy. Severus. The vision. Harry.

Harry.

Remus shot up, realizing he was on the couch that Harry had been on when he had last seen him. The werewolf looked around frantically for his godson, stumbling off the couch when he didn't see the boy's lithe form anywhere around. Had something happened to him? Had Severus taken him? Had last night been just a dream?

"Professor Lupin," said a gentle, youthful voice from by the door. Remus whipped around, eye going wide at the sight that greeted him. Harry stood leaning against the door, clad in only the pants that he had worn upon being rescued, leaving his scarred chest visible for the rest of the world to see. His raven hair was dripping wet, and it occurred to Remus that he must have just gotten out of the shower.

"Harry..." The boy offered him a small smile, but before he could say anything, a pop sounded, causing both wizards to jump, and to involuntarily flinch. In the center of the room was a black house-elf, who blinked at them with wide saphire eyes.

"Coins is sorry, sirs," apologized the obviously youthful male elf. "But Masters Snape requests that Masters Remus sir read this, sirs." A copy of the Daily Prophet appeared in his small little hand, and he held it out expectantly. Hesitating briefly, Remus reached out a hand and withdrew the newspaper, glimpsing over the heading, expression turning to one of horror.

"Professor Lupin?" Inquired Harry, stepping forward. He, too, glanced at the heading, eyes taking on a haunted look as he read the words.

The Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's Attacked. Over Three Hundred Confirmed Dead. Dolores Umbridge Appointed Minister.

Coins, completely oblivious to what was going on, spoke again.

"Masters Snape has stepped outs for a whiles. Can Coins get sirs something to eat for breakfast?"

.T.

He paced the room anxiously, cool blue eyes glancing every other second at the clock on the wall, waiting. Ever since Severus had revealed to him about his son, memories upon memories had plagued his mind - his sleep had been filled with them, and more often than not, they were not pleasant.

Lucius had read the Daily Prophet that Severus had left discarded on the table. He knew what had happened, and who was responsible. However, it was not the attacks that had bothered him. It was who was missing that tore at every bit of patience and faith that he had.

Missing: Gilderoy Lockhart, Georgia Fudge, Anthony Flint, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy...

Draco was missing. His son was missing. Perhaps even dead. He assumed that was what Severus had gone to check on.

But he was Draco's father; Severus was his godfather, true, but he, he was Draco's father. He held responsibility for his son. And he knew that if anything had happened to Draco, he would never forgive himself.

Severus had asked him to stay in the manor. He must have known that Lucius would read the paper, and had therefore requested it. But the Malfoy patriarch had not known about Draco when he had agreed. And he needed to know...needed to know.

He remembered the way to Malfoy Manor, and knew all of the secret passages and weak ward areas where he could slip in undetected, having created them all himself. There would be no danger in him simply going to check on his son, to make sure he was alright, alive. He would be back before Severus returned, and he was sure that their guests could occupy themselves for a few hours.

Mind made up, Lucius headed towards his closet for the appropriate robes.

.T.

He walked up the steps, unnoticed by any who were around, and entered the building through their glass doors, once again unnoticed. He lit his pipe as he studied the scene, blue eyes searching for the one he had come here for, and he saw him.

The boy was leaning against the door to an office, expression forlorn, lost, and agitated. Seraph couldn't blame him. He had lost his family, including his parents, in less than twenty-four hours, and now he was about to be signed over to the custody of the only man who people felt they could trust him with; Albus Dumbledore. The Hogwarts Headmaster was in there right now, signing the necessary paper work, whilst Neville Longbottom stood outside, mulling over his fate.

This would have to be done swiftly, with little time for explanation. He hoped he was right in judging the Gryffindor's feelings.

He moved quickly, silently, giving Neville no warning before he was on top of him.

"Neville Longbottom?" He whispered harshly, causing the boy to jump and jerk around. A curious frown formed on his face as he stared at him.

"Who are you?" He replied, just as softly. Seraph waved the question away impatiently.

"Someone you can trust. Now, tell me, honestly and quickly. Do you wish to be under the gaurdianship of Albus Dumbledore?"

"No," he answered automatically. Seraph nodded.

"What if I were to offer you the answers to all of your questions, the chance for revenge against those who stole your family from you, and perhaps, even the sanity of your parents?" Neville's eyes widened at the offer.

"I'd ask you what you wanted in return," he said after a moment. The sound of the knob to the office turning slightly pressed Seraph further.

"Nothing you don't," said the man quickly. "Come with me, and I will give you all I promised." Neville looked torn, glancing between the white-robed figure that he had just met and the door behind which his future guardian stood. Seraph sighed in impatience. "You must choose now, Mr. Longbottom!"

'My parents,' thought Neville. He gave Seraph a look of determination.

"I expect details later." Seraph nodded, and clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. They were gone within a second, just as the door to the office opened, and a rather confused Dumbledore exited the office.

.T.

Twenty miles away, Dolores Umbridge gleefully signed the very first werewolf registration act, putting it into effect immediately.

TBC

LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG

My very first NC-17 scene. I know it sucks. They'll get better x_X Deal.

I hope you lot had the best Christmas, and I wish you all a Happy New Year. Much love!

-Brit


End file.
